


we keep that old wheel turning

by frillshark



Category: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Angst, Gen, I have a very limited knowledge of loz lore PLEASE go easy on me im new, Mental Health Issues, Not AOC compliant, Pre-Calamity, Reluctant Hero Link, Selectively Mute Link, also if you do not already know what daemon aus are this will NOT make sense fair warning, essentially a discussion of reincarnation when daemons exist, exposition city, in the form of a talking animal you argue with, kind of a link backstory fic, link gets his fursona analyzed not once but twice, link's kinda a messed up kid lowkey, literally a solid quarter of the word count is just bridging between sections, making up lore, mostly - Freeform, self-confidence issues, taking liberties with canon material
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 21:41:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29814789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frillshark/pseuds/frillshark
Summary: While the Hero of Hyrule changes throughout the ages, their daemon never does. Time and time again, the hero's daemon would return to guide the newest incarnation of Hyrule's savior to victory against the forces of darkness. Legends say that she would always settle as a wolf, no matter what.Link is twelve years old when his daemon takes the form of the wolf for the first time.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 43





	we keep that old wheel turning

**Author's Note:**

> HEY,,,,,so the legend of zelda is hitting me like a TRUCK right now and. as tradition goes. I sat down and wrote 20k words of au content no one asked for. again fair warning this will be incomprehensible if you don't already have some idea of how daemon aus work but I'll try to give a quick rundown:  
> -everyone has a physical manifestation of their soul called a daemon that takes the form of an animal (in this au however the goron, zora, and rito do NOT have daemons because no rights for furries I guess)  
> -during childhood, a daemon is able to change forms at will but by the time you're a teenager it settles into a fixed form and cannot change anymore  
> -there's a bunch of like social rules and stuff about not touching other people's daemons (this is the big one) and generally not speaking directly to someone else's daemon either, although I rolled those back a bit in this au  
> -because a daemon is essentially a facet of yourself your relationship with it can be incredibly telling of how you think of yourself as a whole  
> -normally daemons cannot go too far from their person or risk separation, which is extremely difficult to pull off without straight up killing both of them

Link was an odd boy.

At a glance, you wouldn’t have known. He was rambunctious, and reckless, and even a little shy around new people. He was always wandering off and getting into trouble, with a natural curiosity that seemed just about insatiable. He had plenty of friends (or, plenty of people were friends with _him_ ) _._ By all accounts, he was a relatively normal child—except for one thing.

While the other children in their village had all started to speak after a couple years, at the age of five he still hardly spoke to _anyone_ outside of a few soft, croaked words that seemed to shake in his throat with hesitance—and no matter how hard his parents tried, they couldn’t find out why. They sat with him for hours pouring over books in an attempt to get him to read along (which he hardly had the patience for anyway) and took trip after worried trip to doctors in nearby towns to see if they could do anything about it. Hell, they’d even tried _bribing_ him on occasion, when they’d grown short with the blank silence their son gave them at the thousandth attempt to get him to say anything at _all._ As the years went on, though, their concerns eventually began to fade. Link didn’t speak much, sure, but he spoke _enough_ to them for his parents to mostly stop worrying, and he was still just as quick to respond and just as excitable as a child his age should be. And besides, while his daemon was certainly the withdrawn type as well, she was more than willing to speak up for the both of them whenever he froze up in conversation.

Actually, it was Link’s _daemon_ that they worried about the most. 

Growing up, a child’s daemon was supposed to be their companion, their playmate, their best friend. Kiru was… Decidedly _not_ that. The young daemons of the children in town could be found racing alongside them in the forms of fledgling sparrows and foxes and lizards, the two of them chattering incessantly back and forth, but neither one of Link’s parents had ever seen Kiru sound even _vaguely_ playful before. Whenever Link went out to help with chores, or “train” with the other kids, or pick plants that grew by the forest’s edge, Kiru was always one step ahead, leading the way—impatiently, chastisingly, like she was already fed up with his antics. She was solemn and serious and every word she spoke felt chilled to the point where it made even other daemons uncomfortable, let _alone_ just how jarring it was for her to be the only one out of the two of them to ever speak. 

And while every other child and their daemon were practically inseparable from each other, none of them had ever seen Kiru be half as affectionate. 

Link, on the other hand, seemed to have absolutely no problem at all with his all-too-mature, all-too-standoffish daemon, and that was the only thing that kept either of his parents from worrying too heavily about them. He was an energetic, healthy boy who showed a shocking amount of physical ability for his age and childish clumsiness, and his daemon Kiru spent most of her time in the form of a deer or a bird watching over him closely, protectively. His parents reassured themselves with the knowledge that daemons sometimes had weird phases, and that children were sometimes quiet in their youth but grew out of it with time. It was only a few issues, after all. They could handle it.

Their third issue came the first time Link picked up a sword. 

* * *

For as long as he could remember, Link knew he was a fighter. A good one, too. 

Of course, that wasn’t the only thing he was good at. He also liked helping his mother and her blue heron daemon cook dinner, and scouring the woods for little rocks and trinkets, and picking out patterns in the stars at night, but the fighting was definitely what people seemed to be the most interested in. He didn’t really get it, because it wasn’t like it was _hard_ or anything. The combination of the calm that washed over him whenever something was put in his hands, whether that was a stick or, more excitingly, a _real sword,_ and the guiding words Kiru would whisper to him as a firefly clinging to the collar of his shirt ( _There’s an opening on your left, Link, take this opportunity,_ and _his stance is weak, you can catch him off guard,_ and _you’re taking risks, pay attention, pay attention_ ) made it all come so naturally—plus, nobody expected you to speak if you were fighting, so it was okay that he didn’t talk a lot. If it was that easy to learn, then it couldn’t possibly be all that special— _he_ couldn’t possibly be all that special—but the words of praise from his parents and the other knights and guards made him feel warm inside, so he took it. 

Kiru’s praise, who’s words of acknowledgement were few and far between, made him feel warmest of all. 

So he kept training, because it felt good to be good at something, and Kiru became his most frequent sparring partner. She was just as good a fighter as he was, maybe even better—which was pretty surprising, since he’d always assumed people and daemons only knew the same stuff. It made sense that way. But sometimes she’d surprise him with something new, something that he’d never even heard of before, and today that was her dodging and weaving around his strikes with a _shocking_ amount of grace given that she was in the form of a boar right now. His dad’s daemon was a woodland boar, and Link had _never_ seen her move half as gracefully as Kiru was while she avoided his stick (because he’d never, ever dare to use a real sword while practicing with her).

She might have had an unfair advantage, though. It was easy to predict someone’s moves when you were literally a part of them.

And yet, Link found himself slowly but surely beginning to wear her down, even as the seconds ticked by and his breathing got more and more ragged. Kiru could tell he was tiring too, and he watched as a confident gleam shone in her black eyes before she eased up ever so slightly—and _that_ was his opening. Link lunged forward with the stick, a triumphant little cry jumping from his throat-

Suddenly, Kiru was very much _not_ a boar anymore, and she was flying out of range as a crow with a sharp and mocking caw. Link only had a moment to realize she’d even shifted at all, and by then he’d fallen onto the ground with a decidedly undignified yelp.

Kiru landed next to him, and he was quick to scramble to his feet, still holding his stick in an iron grip. Link gave a huff of frustration as he tucked the makeshift weapon under his arm to sloppily sign out a “ _No fair,_ ” that was just barely readable. Technically he really didn’t need to take the time to sign to Kiru, because as his daemon she would have understood regardless, but he was supposed to be practicing and he at least knew she wouldn’t make fun of him for his nervous and uncertain gestures. 

“Do you think the monsters are going to be _fair?”_ Kiru countered coolly, her voice made hoarse by her mountain crow form. “You need to learn not to underestimate the enemy. Make one mistake, and the fight is over.” She sounded gravely serious, like she always did, and it was all Link could do to keep his enthusiasm from wilting. 

“ _I know,_ ” He signed slowly, his energy continuing to drain. Link sat back down again, fiddling with his stick that was starting to splinter from so many jabs. This time, he didn’t bother trying to spell his words out, instead turning to look into Kiru’s glittering eyes and quietly think to her _But we’re still just training, right?_

Ever since the two of them were very young, he’d known that he was going to be a knight one day. His whole family had been knights, and it was all the other adults in the village had ever told him, that with his talent and skills he’d be the best fighter to come out of their town in decades (these were mostly said out of earshot of his parents). But while there were only a couple real soldiers around to humor him way out here in the country, the Hyrule Royal Army was the real deal. If he wanted to get into its ranks like his father, to go up against monsters and protect people, he couldn’t just be a good fighter—he had to be a great one. Link was seven years old now. He still had time, and he had never had a reason to doubt himself yet, but… The grim, solemn look on Kiru’s face gave him pause sometimes.

She sat there and stared at him for a while, expression unnervingly impassive as she thought to herself in a way Link could never read, and eventually a flicker of softness glowed in her eyes. “I suppose we are,” Kiru said hesitantly, letting out a soft sigh. “So, if this is all just a _game_ to you…” And suddenly she leapt to her feet in the form of a Hylian Retriever, all gangly legs and puppy fur, and playfully lunged for the stick that had since started to fall from his hands. It was startling enough to get a laugh—a real one—out of Link, and he tugged back in vain as she successfully pulled it out of his grasp and dashed away.

Link chased her around the hillside, feeling the grass crunch underneath his shoes until he finally caught up to her and they both crashed down to the bottom of the hill, breathless and laughing. Kiru was back to her old grumpy self a few minutes later, but the moment was enough to get him to stand up and try again. Even if that moment didn’t last long.

* * *

Kiru told him he had to get better, so he did. 

When the townsfolk had run out of praises to sing as he began to best his father’s friends in the Royal Guard in combat so frequently they refused to train with him anymore, Kiru was the one to keep pushing him. When his slashes started becoming sloppy and overconfident, her sharp barks were what shocked him back into discipline. When he started to feel disheartened from missing shots on the training bow he’d been lent, she had dragged him out of bed to practice until he hit every target. When he glanced out at the treeline wistfully, wishing he still had the time to explore the woods and mess around with the other kids all carefree like he’d used to before giving up most of his free time to train at nearby guard outposts, she would perch on his shoulder and whisper in his ear _But think about everything we’ve done so far. You’re doing so well, Link, you’re doing so well_ —and every time, he found it in him to steel his resolve.

The hard work paid off tenfold. By the time Link had turned twelve, he had finally secured what the both of them had wanted since he’d first snuck out of bed to hold his father’s sword—this summer, they were going to the military training camp north of the castle for official initiation into the Hyrule Royal Guard. Of course, they still had to prove themselves once they got there, but those worries had completely gone out the window once they’d laid eyes on the letter in their mail stamped with the official seal of the Hyrule Military. Link had pulled Kiru in for a joyous hug before she could wriggle away, crying out a “We _did_ it!” without even registering the way his voice burned in his throat from sheer disuse through his own excitement. 

Saying goodbye to his mother had been tearful, but he’d reassured himself that at least his father would be accompanying him for part of the trip. And even when he wouldn’t be, because the work of a knight in Hyrule was never done, Link wasn’t worried. He would always have Kiru, no matter what, and that meant he’d never be alone.

It didn’t take long given his diligence and dedication for the local officers at the camp to start trusting him, and only a month or two after he’d begun his training there Link had found himself entrusted with a special task—delivering some important plans and maps to a military outpost up north, on the border of the Great Hyrule Forest. While it didn’t seem very challenging at first glance, he’d be making the journey by himself, and the forest was rumored to have all sorts of wild creatures in it (he wasn’t quite sure if he believed that, because a lot of the knights-in-training here seemed like the gossipy type, but that wouldn’t stop him from being careful). 

Most importantly, it was a test of resolve, and the two of them were more than willing to meet it. There was more to being a knight than just fighting, after all. Why would it come so naturally to him if he wasn’t supposed to use his skills for good things, like helping others?

(At least, that was the kind of thing he’d been told by his parents and other adults growing up—stuff about goddesses and destinies and the way seemingly ordinary people could change the world and all those big things. He’d asked Kiru about it a couple times before, and in response she’d always just quietly stared at him for a moment and said _Of course that’s true, Link, these things happen for a reason. I know you’re meant to do good._ Which was still pretty vague, but he appreciated the rare compliment regardless).

The trip to the outpost and back had been largely uneventful. He’d kept to the main road for the most part, and the weather had been nice, and it had felt good to get back onto a trail for the first time in a while. Kiru had been a little on edge, periodically shifting from a deer or fox trotting at his side to an islander hawk, so she could leap into the air and check over the next hill for anything suspicious. Link had reassured her multiple times that they were okay, but he wouldn’t lie and say it didn’t calm his nerves to know she was looking out for them. 

And then on the return trip, out of nowhere, Kiru had suddenly frozen. Link had watched with growing unease as she turned to stare into the foggy woods, her soft doe ears twisted forward to listen intently for something only she could hear. _Kiru?_ He thought to her nervously, already putting a hand on the broadsword he’d been given to protect himself in case they ran into trouble on the road, but she hardly even reacted to it. Instead, she took a step forward—then another, then another, and Link had his sword drawn at the ready-

Kiru snapped back to face him, her black eyes gleaming with an intensity he’d never seen, and gave him only a moment to register her imploring shout of “Can’t you _hear it?_ Come on, follow me!” before she was running, _racing,_ into the ghostly forest beyond. 

He had no time to even think about trying to argue with her, because as soon as she passed the treeline he felt a sharp, horrible tearing feeling in his chest begin to build at the sheer _distance_ she was putting between them, and then he was sprinting as fast as he possibly could after her just to make it stop. Link had no idea what she was doing, or where she was going, and she _wouldn’t stop_ no matter how many times he screamed inside his head to get her to come back. He barely even registered the forest around him as he instinctively ducked under branches and through the underbrush, too caught up in desperately tracking the flashes of brown and cream fur. If he stopped for a second, he would lose her.

So he didn’t notice the way the trees became more and more dense, and how mist began to swirl and swarm around his feet wherever he stepped, until he was suddenly hit with the horrifying jolt that he _couldn’t see her_ anymore through the fog. Link wanted to shout for her, but when he tried to open his mouth all that came out was a choked, keening noise of fear that died in his throat at just how badly he was starting to shake. Exhausted, panicking, he forced himself to keep going, because she _had_ to be around here somewhere and he _had_ to find her-

Link stepped forward into the endless fog, and the trees finally cleared, and he _gasped._

The sun shone down from a gap in the forest canopy to illuminate a woodland clearing glistening with light, the leaves casting dappled shadows on the lush and flowered ground. It was absolutely beautiful, maybe one of the most beautiful things he’d ever seen in his life, but it didn’t come close to what was lying in the middle of it.

In the center of the clearing, buried up to the blade in a stone pedestal, was the unmistakable crest of the sword of legend. And standing beside it, in the form of a wolf, was Kiru.

It was the most magnificent form she’d ever taken. This wolf looked nothing like the ragged, scruffy maraudo wolves that sometimes lurked outside his village—Kiru was a shimmering silver, with a striking black-and-grey pattern that ran along her back from the points of her ears to the tip of her long, curled tail. Blazing across her nose was a pointed streak of white that ended at the edges of her piercing orange eyes. 

And the _sword…_

Link had heard stories of it when he was younger, grown _up_ on the tales of the Hylian Hero and the Sword That Seals The Darkness. That in the time of the kingdom’s greatest peril, he’d stepped up to protect the land and everyone that lived in it—and then he’d done it again, and again, as new corruptions and calamities arose to threaten the place and people of Hyrule he’d held so dearly. The hero was different every time, but their daemon was the same, a soul of true courage reborn time and time again to guide those who would become the savior of Hyrule to their destiny.

They said she would always settle as a wolf.

_Take the sword, Link,_ Came Kiru’s voice in his head as he stared transfixed into the forest clearing. _I know you’re ready. It’s time._

When Link had stumbled into the woods mere moments ago, his hands had been shaking, but now as he stepped forward onto the stone platform they had become steady and still. He looked into Kiru’s eyes one last time, for any sort of reassurance, and felt her determination burn into his head, his heart, his body.

He placed his hands on the hilt of the Master Sword and pulled.

* * *

Here’s how it was supposed to go.

Link was born in a small village in the countryside as the latest in a family of knights that stretched back generations. He didn’t talk a lot, but that was okay, because he didn’t need to talk a lot in order to fight monsters and follow instructions. He would start training from an early age, learn to curb his rambunctious personality and snarky signed remarks, and follow in his parent’s footsteps to serve the castle and royal family of Hyrule. He’d be mostly normal, and his mostly normal daemon would probably settle as a hawk, or a deer, or maybe a dog, and he’d live a noble but quiet life of protecting the kingdom and everyone in it. Link had known since he was young that it was the path for him. That there had never _been_ another path for him.

Stumbling out of the Great Hyrule Forest, holding the Master Sword in his shaking, stinging hands, had not been part of the equation.

That night, he’d snuck back into the training camp unseen. Kiru had been mostly silent during the last leg of their journey, and she’d at least had the grace to shift out of that wolf form while they were creeping behind the backs of the watchmen, but with every step he took he could _feel_ the way her eyes burned into him. He hadn’t actually said anything to her, and yet he was pretty sure she’d guessed what he was planning to do solely from the roiling anxiety that was twisting up his stomach. He was also pretty sure she hated it.

When Link slowly eased open the door to the western barracks, he knew he didn’t have much time to spare. He removed the sword from the sheath on his back—oh, Goddess, it shone _so bright_ even in the dark—and after quickly reciting a fervent mental apology, he wrapped it up as much as he could with the one spare blanket he had and pushed it under his bed, far enough back for it to vanish into the shadows. The barracks wouldn’t get cleaned out until at least the end of the week, and by that time he would have _had_ to come to a decision. Then, feeling positively nauseous at the idea that he could be caught doing this at any moment, he crept under the covers without daring to change out of his trail-weathered clothes in fear of waking someone up and closed his eyes. 

It lasted exactly a second until he felt the sharp poke of Kiru’s nose in his arm. 

He sat up and stared at her, and immediately felt a shiver go down his spine at the sight of the wolf looming over him. Unlike how she’d looked in the forest, all encouraging gaze and confident voice, her expression had gone cold and, crushingly enough, tinged with disappointment. _So you’re a coward, then,_ she thought to him, the sharpness in her tone all too obvious. 

And she was right. Kiru was rarely wrong, really, even if her methods could be blunt. This was the absolute _last_ thing a hero should be doing. But there was still a tremor to his hands, and a deep, unshakable fear in his throat, so instead of a real answer the first thing he said was “ _Why didn’t you tell me?_ ” signed quietly and hesitantly, because he wanted to believe _so badly_ that, if she’d known all this time, Kiru wouldn’t have withheld this from him for so long. 

She blinked at him once, and for a scary moment Link thought she was just going to brush him off entirely, but then she curtly responded with _I didn’t always know, if that’s what you’re asking. And when I did, I realized I had to make sure you were ready for when the time came. But if I’d known you were going to be so spineless about it, perhaps I should have-_

“ _I’m_ not _ready!”_ He signed at her desperately, even though both of them knew there was so much more to it. In all the stories they’d been told, the heroes of legend had been mostly young—but Link definitely didn’t remember any of them being _twelve._ And while he’d heard worried rumors of growing dark forces, of monsters pouring in from the edges of the kingdom, he couldn’t even imagine the looks on people’s faces at the realization that the person who was supposed to defeat them was a _child_ with no title or rank or _anything._ Surely, there had to be some mistake. The Hero of Hyrule, the personification of courage itself, wouldn’t be a kid. They wouldn’t be some nobody from the Hyrulian countryside. And they absolutely, positively, wouldn’t be so _afraid_.

Link didn’t know if Kiru had caught all of that in his thoughts, though, so he signed yet another “ _I’m not ready,_ ” this time slower and more deliberate. “ _Wait until the end of summer, at least. When we’re real knights. Then we’ll be good enough._ ” In reality, he wasn’t sure if this was something he’d _ever_ be good enough for, but right now his goal was convincing Kiru. He’d figure the rest out later.

Finally, after a long, tense pause, Kiru let out a huff of frustration and sank down to lay on the floor. To his relief, Link watched as her form slowly shifted into a Hylian Retriever, her mottled coat and scruffy fur a far cry from the sleek wolf she’d been just moments before. She didn’t speak to him, and he was too nervous to try.

Neither of them slept that night.

And as the weeks went on, neither of them would sleep well for a long time.

The two of them kept training. Under the watchful eye of the soldiers that resided in the camp, having spent years of their lives learning the strict disciplines of the Hyrule Army’s fighting style, Link could feel the way his stance sharpened, his posture straightened, his strikes becoming more precise and more devastating with every blow. People had been skeptical, at first, of the silent twelve-year-old country boy waltzing in for the summer, but soon enough he was hearing those same old praises again—that he had an incredible talent for swordfighting, that he was the youngest person to have ever trained here before, that his dedication to the job was something hardly seen in men three times his age. 

They didn’t warm his chest like they used to. Kiru’s words were rarely encouraging anymore.

At the end of summer, they had gotten their wish. As a testament to the unflinching effort and devotion they’d put forth since stepping foot into the camp, and for all the time they’d spent preparing before, Link and Kiru would be appointed as apprentice guards to Hyrule Castle—an advancement that would have taken a normal recruit _years_ to achieve. The moment it had been announced, he could already hear the whispers of shock and jealousy from all around him, and they became even louder when he finally, _finally_ managed to whisper out a “... Th- Thank you, sir,” that sounded so small and shook so hard and hardly seemed befitting of what was soon to be a member of the Hyrule Royal Guard. 

This time, his father would not be following him. Link and Kiru would be alone. 

All the while, the Master Sword stayed tucked deeply under his bed. 

If he’d thought the training camp was a big change, Castle Town was like nothing he’d ever seen. Back home, he knew just about everyone—here, the constant stream of voices and faces and commotion almost made it too overwhelming to think. The castle itself wasn’t too bad, as things were often significantly quieter up there as compared to the rowdy town surrounding it, but Link still caught himself staring longingly out at the open fields beyond from time to time (until Kiru tugged at his sleeve to get him to focus, a habit she’d picked up that he wasn’t too fond of). 

The tight schedules were different too. On one hand, having to keep track of where to go each day and how long he was supposed to stand there and who he was supposed to report to stressed him out, but it at least gave a little order to the chaos of truly being on his own for the first time in his life. Except for Kiru, obviously, even if she’d been getting… Distant, lately. 

Kiru had always been serious, and standoffish, and solemn, but ever since the sword she’d been acting downright cold towards him. She didn’t stay by his side protectively whenever they walked into a new room, instead opting to walk a couple paces ahead without looking back. She didn’t reassure him that he’d do better next time when he’d stumbled on his defense and got bowled over by another knight while sparring. She hardly even spoke to him much anymore when she didn’t have to. Link _knew_ that that wasn’t normal, that a daemon should never be that distant from their other half unless something was seriously wrong. 

But she wasn’t his, though. Not really. They didn’t talk much about heroes and daemons of ages past, a bullet point on a sprawling list of things they didn’t want to get into nowadays, and yet it still stung in a way Link couldn’t explain. Despite Kiru’s claim that her past memories and experiences and _lives_ were little more than guiding instincts for her, he could tell by the way her eyes narrowed on him whenever he slipped up that she at least had _some_ idea of the kinds of trials the Hero of Hyrule had had to face before—and that he wasn’t meeting them. It was irrational, and he knew (read: desperately hoped) that Kiru didn’t hate him for it, but it was hard to feel like he deserved to wield the sword hidden under his bed when she was the one who was _truly_ the soul of the hero, and he was just the guy picked for the job.

And if he didn’t even have his own soul, his _daemon,_ did he have anything at all?

To distract himself from deeply troubling, anxiety-inducing thoughts like that, Link dedicated almost every moment he had to his newfound duties. He spent hours patrolling the castle grounds, learning every inch of the towers and hallways and grand open rooms, and at least _tried_ to get to know the other guards (who, between Link’s young age and relative silence and Kiru’s unsettling tendency to speak curtly and coldly, had taken to avoiding them most of the time). Devotion was something he knew well, and as time went on it got easier and easier to fall into a routine of waiting and watching and training and ignoring the way his hands itched to grab the hilt of the Master Sword every time he caught a glimpse of its shadow under his bed. 

_This is what we wanted,_ he told himself, and so it was only natural that something came along and uprooted that too. 

Link had been stationed on sentry duty up on a parapet at the very edge of the castle, where sprawling courtyards and outer walls created a gridlock pattern that still felt mildly claustrophobic even after a solid month or two of having lived there. It definitely wasn’t the most exciting task in the world, nor was there much to actually be on the lookout for so far into the city, but he still tried his best to keep standing up straight and not let his gaze wander too close over the horizon—Kiru had already had to tug his sleeve chastisingly once or twice when she’d noticed him losing focus. Now, she was perched on his shoulder as a falcon, in a sort of mimicry of the imposing bird-of-prey daemons they’d seen on a couple of the higher-ranking royal guards, and while Link’s own body was starting to itch from standing so _still_ Kiru’s pointed grip on him never faded. 

She’d been in the middle of adjusting the sash across his chest that went along with his guard’s uniform when, out of nowhere, Link felt her claws dig in hard enough to hurt as she whipped around to stare at a section of courtyard off in the distance. “... Do you hear that?” Kiru whispered urgently, and before he could even think to respond a sudden booming _CRACK_ split the air, almost jostling him off his feet.

Someone screamed from down below, and Kiru was already flying ahead with a _Hurry, hurry, someone’s in trouble!_ and then Link was running, skidding, _leaping_ down into the courtyard to come face to face with the most terrifying thing he’d ever seen. 

He knew about the excavations, of course—you would have had to literally been living under a rock not to. He’d heard rumors of digging up long-dormant beasts, mechanical creatures that would serve to one day beat back the forces of darkness in the land once again. When he’d gotten to the military training camp, and eventually Hyrule Castle itself, those rumors had been easily confirmed by just one look outside at the droves of research teams that had flooded the castle grounds. But he’d never seen one of the machines up close before. And he’d _never_ seen one angry.

The Guardian was _colossal_ , towering over him as it stood on six spiderlike legs. The moment he touched down into the courtyard it swiveled to face him, single glowing eye burning like lightning, and rushed toward him at a truly frightening speed as it’s eye began to blink and spark. A red target flashed into view on his chest, and Link was only just barely able to dive out of the way before it fired an explosive blast that was so bright, so powerful, that it only missed him by _inches._

The largest thing Link had ever fought was a Lizalfos. How the hell was he supposed to bring this thing down?

“Link!” Kiru’s bark had him snapping to attention as she soared across the courtyard, giving the Guardian momentary pause as it had to decide who to focus on. In her claws was a shiny, round object almost as big as she was, and in the heartbeat of hesitation the Guardian had showed before locking back onto Link she took the opportunity to throw it to him. He caught it effortlessly under Kiru’s commanding stare, relishing in the brief taste of the cooperation he’d so sorely missed, until he realized that she’d literally just tossed him a _pot lid._

Upon catching his undoubtedly shocked, confused, or even flat-out betrayed expression, Kiru shouted back “Use it to deflect the laser! The blast will take it down!” and then there was no more time for plans and explanations because the Guardian was approaching again, training it’s target on Link’s chest for what he _knew_ would be the fatal shot. In that moment, he didn’t think, didn’t hesitate, but later on he would realize just how much faith he’d put in Kiru’s hands—that if she’d been wrong, wrong at _all,_ both of them would have died where they stood. 

In that moment, Link lifted his makeshift shield and felt the blast of the Guardian’s beam surround him.

And then it was gone. 

What happened next was hard for anybody there to even comprehend. The Guardian’s burning laser hit the pot lid dead-on, at nearly point-blank range, but instead of blasting a gaping hole in the boy’s chest it _bounced off._ The Guardian hadn’t done so much as blink when it’s own weapon came rocketing back to hit it square in the eye, causing an explosion that rocked the entire courtyard yet again. It sputtered, and it sparked, and it whined, and then the machine crumpled to the ground in a heap of smoking metal and ancient stone gears.

And the pot lid wasn’t even _damaged!_

“... Nice _going_ , Robbie,” Came an irritated voice from behind a chunk of rubble that jolted Link out of his focus. A young Sheikah woman stepped into view, snowcoat fox daemon trotting at her heels, the both of them dusting themselves off and overall looking shockingly unaffected by the fact that they’d almost been killed. “The King’s never gonna let us experiment anywhere _near_ the castle anymore.” 

“Oh, _excuse_ me! How was _I_ supposed to know it was gonna fly off the rails like that?” From behind her emerged what Link could only assume was Robbie, his genuine defensiveness betrayed by the bold stripes racing across the horned chameleon clinging tightly to his shoulder. For a minute or so, they were so caught up in squabbling with each other—Robbie upset over losing the Guardian and the woman upset with potentially losing their funding—that he was beginning to think they’d forgotten he was even there, until the woman (upon being prodded gently by her daemon) turned to face Link with a much less accusatory expression than the one she’d had only moments prior. 

“... Well, anyway, I have to hand it to you for bailing us out of that one,” She sighed, glancing mournfully at the unmoving Guardian that Link still hadn’t been able to fully tear his eyes from. “I’m Purah, and this is Pallida,” Purah gestured briefly at her daemon, who bowed his head playfully in greeting, before pointing back behind her. “And _those_ two idiots are Robbie and Jackson. We’re researchers, if you couldn’t tell. We’ve been working on cracking open some of this ancient tech- Or, we _were,”_ With a huff, she once again brushed a stray piece of rock out of her hair. “Hey, I gotta say, those were some crazy moves out there—what’s your name, kid? And where’s your-“

Purah suddenly froze, staring at _something_ standing behind Link in the midst of him tentatively raising a hand to sign his name and the continued muffled lamenting from Robbie over the fallen Guardian in the background. He only had to be confused for a moment before he felt the brush of fur against his side, and then Kiru was standing tall next to him—not as a falcon, not as a deer, but as a wolf. _The_ wolf. She hadn’t taken that form since he’d lifted the sword for the very first time.

“Your daemon,” Purah finished, and with a pang of _something_ Link realized that she knew exactly what it meant too. Pallida raced forward to sniff Kiru all over, eyes wide and pacing circles around her in a way that she was clearly only barely tolerating. “She’s- She’s not settled yet, right? But that form… There’s no other wolf like that in Hyrule. That’s the Ancient Hero’s daemon, isn’t it? Robbie, Jackson, come get a look at this—the details are _perfect!”_

In the instant she’d taken her eyes off them to wave her friends (?) over, Link felt his free hand move to dig into the scruff of Kiru’s neck before she could flinch away, desperately thinking _Why the wolf, why the wolf?_ Deep down, though, he knew it was useless, because Kiru knew _exactly_ what she was doing right now. She always had, and there was nothing he could do to stop her. 

Once again, the researchers (well, some of them) were absolutely enthralled—Purah was pointing out the white blaze across Kiru’s snout, and how _Isn’t this supposed to be symbolic of that sword or something? I can’t wait to see my sister’s face when she finds out,_ while Robbie was essentially shrugging his shoulders indifferently and saying _You know, I thought this was supposed to be more of Impa’s thing. Can we get back to the problem at hand yet?_ Their daemons had taken the opportunity to bicker even further, and Link wanted nothing more than to be out of the spotlight _right now,_ until suddenly-

“What the hell is going ON down there?”

The entire group leapt to attention as the shout shook the already crumbling courtyard. Link looked up only to feel a cold stab of panic upon spotting one of the guard commanders standing on the battlements—the royal claymore strapped to her back signifying her as one of the highest-ranking guards in the castle—and before he could think twice he sank into a kneel he’d had to spend hours perfecting back in the training camp. Technically it was a little overkill, but he’d heard just how testy her temper could be, and he also _really_ hoped coming to help stop a malfunctioning machine a couple courtyards over didn’t count as abandoning your post. Surely not, right?

“Oh- Sorry, ma’am!” Purah called up to her with an almost eerie amount of cheer in her voice. “There was a _liiiittle_ trouble with one of the Guardians-“ 

“Well, go _clean it up_ ,” She snarled back, her eagle daemon suddenly soaring into view behind her with a shrieking caw. “And explain to His Majesty why there was an _explosion_ on the castle grounds.” As she turned away, they could just barely hear the muttered growl of “ _Fucking_ Sheikah. You think they’d know how to keep their shit in line.” 

The courtyard went quiet for a moment as they all stared up into where the commander had been, their expressions having gone cold, until Kiru finally nosed him in the side to stand. As Link slowly got to his feet and set down the pot lid he hadn’t realized he’d still been holding—half-debating leaving before they could ask him any more questions and half-debating apologizing for his commander’s rude words—Purah whipped around to face him with narrowed eyes that hadn’t quite stopped shooting sparks yet.

“I- I didn’t get your name, did I?” She asked, the cheer sounding considerably more strained than usual. “We didn’t mean to crowd you. Me and Pallida basically got raised on learning about ancient Hyrule culture, so you could say we know a thing or two.” Purah patted her daemon on the head as more of a comfort than anything else while she stared at him expectantly.

And Link could lie—but wouldn’t that just be running away again? Running away from the opportunity to get better, to help people, to show the kind of courage he was _supposed_ to have? If he hadn’t stepped in just now, there was a good chance these people might have been seriously hurt, or _much_ worse. Sure, there were other guards all around them (who were currently standing up on the wall surrounding the courtyard clearly fighting themselves over whether or not they should still be coming down after the threat had been neutralized so quickly) but who knows if they would have been able to deflect the Guardian’s beam like that, or would have been able to dodge it at all? If he walked away now, would he ever be able to forgive himself for the horrible things that he—as the… The _chosen_ bearer of the Master Sword, worthy or not—wouldn’t be around to prevent?

It didn’t matter if he was ready anymore. Right then, Link made a promise to himself that he’d never, ever falter like that ever again, not when there were bigger things at stake now than the selfish doubts of a twelve-year-old boy. 

(Later on, he’d realize that that promise had sounded a lot like Kiru’s voice.)

So when he’d finally raised his hands to finger-spell “ _L-I-N-K,”_ followed by a quick gesture down to the proud wolf by his side, “ _And K-I-R-U,”_ his hands didn’t hesitate. After all, someone with the Hero’s daemon would have never been afraid to give out their name. 

He would be retroactively glad that they recognized Hylian sign language, and after a moment of still-tense goodbyes Purah and Robbie promised to put in a good word for him with the King—which, admittedly, was probably a way to deflect a little heat off of them for getting one of the excavated Guardians broken and blasting a couple holes in the walls, but Link didn’t mind—they headed off to the deeper sections of the castle. As they left, Kiru had glanced up at him briefly, and for the first time in a long time he thought he saw a trace of genuine encouragement in her eyes. 

Two days later, when Link had woken up to an official summons to the throne room as soon as he possibly could, he took the sword out from under his bed. He walked through the halls of the castle with it in his hands, ignoring the looks of shock from passerby, and used every last bit of strength in him to steady his resolve. The Master Sword hummed in his grasp. This time, his hands didn’t shake. 

* * *

The sword changed everything, again.

Any amount of skepticism anyone had had when he’d walked into that room had washed away at the sight of him holding the fabled sword, and even farther still when they noticed Kiru padding alongside him in the unmistakable form of the wolf. He was immediately promoted, of course. In the King’s own words, they couldn’t have their prophesied knight be stuck as an apprentice guard, and for a while that was the last clear thing he remembered about those first few weeks after he came forward with the sword—because everything had soon become an unstoppable whirlwind of places and people and planning. 

In the blink of an eye, Link had done what countless others had dedicated their entire lives towards doing—elevating himself to the inner circle of the Hyrule royal family practically overnight. He was assigned to train with the best of the best, to hone his skills for the battles to come. He was being brought before the throne constantly to give updates on how his training was going and for him to be brought up to speed on new developments, whether that meant the excavation of new ancient technology or more monster sightings or signs of what they called the _Great Calamity._ He was being shown off in front of nobility, and told to give directions to royal soldiers, and was working harder than he’d ever worked in his life. 

Link had always thought he’d grow up to, preferably, have nobody’s eyes on him—to be part of a crowd, something bigger than himself. Now, he found himself being looked upon by everyone. 

(Perhaps not everyone. When he wasn’t being put in charge of campaigns against monster raids in the countryside, despite the fact that having to stand in front of so many people almost made him sick with stress, he was held close to the castle like a priceless jewel. And if he _was_ at the castle, then that meant he was either training, or doing _something_ , and if he _wasn’t_ doing something then he’d finally fallen into a fitful sleep late at night. The last time he’d seen any of his family was when his father had shown up to the castle gates with a band of knights to give a report about a monster skirmish, and the only thing that had stopped Link from abandoning his sparring session to run to him was the feeling of Kiru’s teeth in his sleeve. He wouldn’t see his father again for years.)

If there was anything Link could feel certain about, it was that the training was working. From the moment he’d swung it for the first time in that throne room as a demonstration, he’d realized that holding the Master Sword felt _right._ It whirled from his hand like no weapon he’d ever used before, blazed with energy when he practiced in the castle courtyards, and shone with divine light even when he was plunging it through the chest of a Moblin in the heat of battle. It didn’t even feel like a sword most of the time—whenever he pulled it from the sheathe strapped to his back, it felt like an extension of himself in almost the same way Kiru was. 

The sword had definitely never acted anywhere near as intense as she did, though. 

That was another change that had come after the sword—not just for Kiru this time, but for both of them, because every single day they woke up felt like being plunged into a storm. _Everyone_ knew who they were the moment Link walked into the room with the Master Sword on his back, or Kiru padded in in the form of the historic wolf. Everyone wanted to know more about the hero and his daemon. Everyone wanted to know if the two of them together would be good enough to succeed in defeating the impending Calamity. There was never a moment of quiet anymore, and with every cheer of encouragement from the streets, or solemn order passed on to him from the castle, or even the nasty whispers that circulated the town about the knight who couldn’t speak—who was just a little boy from a little country town too scared to string a sentence together, or too haughty, or too dense, who couldn’t _possibly_ be the legendary sword’s true choice—Link felt the weight of the Master Sword cut a little deeper into his shoulders. 

Kiru responded by becoming even more standoffish and duty-driven, displaying nothing but the courage they were destined to have because she was convinced that their doubts were wrong. Link responded by learning how to display nothing—nothing at _all_ —because he was afraid their doubts were right. 

In every public moment, they were expected to be the heroes of legend—Link with the Sword That Seals The Darkness on hand, and Kiru as the wolf that had followed that blade for thousands of years—so when they were able to scrape together some time alone, he made sure that she didn’t have to be, just for a little bit. If anything, it served as a rare reminder that, no matter how much of himself he kept locking away day after day, there were still pieces of him somewhere that were just _Link and Kiru_ and not the _Heroes of Hyrule._ Kiru had made the mistake of indulging him one time, when he’d confided in her one night that he missed home and she’d shifted into a blue heron to loom over his bed, and since then he’d made it a mission to find new forms for her to try out (because there was never a quest without some tasks on the side, right?).

Using an animal compendium Link had checked out from the castle library, every night he picked out a new form for Kiru to take. Sometimes he convinced her, sometimes she refused—but more often than not, she found herself reluctantly agreeing to shift out of the wolf she spent so much time in nowadays. There were creatures in that book that neither of them could have ever dreamed of seeing, like elegant Eldin ostriches and imposing crocodiles and big, furry sand seals. Once, he’d even managed to goad her into trying out a great-horned rhinoceros, to which she’d almost torn the roof off in a panic once she realized the room was suddenly too small to turn around in. They’d never done that one again, obviously, but Link had _really_ laughed about it. That wasn’t something he got to do much of anymore. 

The day he’d turned fifteen, after two grueling years of training and fighting and learning how to keep breathing under the burning heat of the Master Sword upon his back, Link was called before the King once again. In that meeting, he’d learned that the King’s daughter, Princess Zelda, would be leaving the castle soon to travel Hyrule in a quest to both meet with the newly-recruited champions of the pivotal Divine Beasts, and awaken the powers gifted to her by her bloodline—the powers that would be used to seal the _Calamity_ , they said. Undertaking such a journey would certainly be dangerous, especially with the monster hordes that had infested the lands over the years. She’d need someone to accompany her, someone to protect her. Someone who had already honed the power given to them by people long past. Someone they could trust. 

Link had always known from the moment he’d stepped in front of that throne with the sword that he would be trained to fight alongside the Princess, somehow—and yet, out of the countless hours he’d spent attuning himself to the sacred blade, he’d hardly spent any time around Princess Zelda at all. While she’d seemed alright enough from their brief meetings, and definitely dedicated to the work it had taken to excavate and study all this ancient technology, one look at her as she stood beside her father told Link she did not feel the same way towards him. It was no secret that the Princess has been struggling for years to show even a hint of the powers she _needed_ to have to prevent the impending Calamity, and that her daemon still hadn’t settled yet despite her being nearly fifteen, only adding insult to injury. But in the eyes of the people, Link had essentially shown up swinging the Master Sword like he’d been born doing it, Kiru already taking the form of the fabled wolf practically every waking minute. At least, that’s what it had _looked_ like.

And the burn of her eyes on him made it clear that she’d never been allowed to forget it. 

The next morning, Link and Kiru knelt at the feet of the Hyrule Royal family, the Master Sword clutched in his hands like a prayer. With the booming words of King Rhoam and the thundering hooves of his towering elk daemon echoing throughout the palace, he was promoted to Princess Zelda’s personal royal knight. They would protect her and the kingdom with their lives if they had to. Tomorrow, they would make their way down to the sacred grounds outside of the castle, and they would make that promise again. All the years they’d spent training had come to this. Every step they’d taken had been one closer to filling the fathomless, unimaginable shoes of the Hero of Hyrule. 

That journey was one that he’d have to make alone. For a moment—just a moment—he hoped in a flash of sympathy for what Princess Zelda would have to go through that maybe he could make it so that _her_ journey wouldn’t have to be. 

When he’d looked up from the shining floor to stare into Princess Zelda’s eyes, her expression had gone cold, and her daemon— _they said that the daemons of the princesses of Hyrule settled as owls, the symbol of wisdom, when times of darkness fell over the kingdom_ —flickered from a great-horned owl on her shoulder to a spiny, bristling lizard, sizzling like hot embers on a fire. 

And as Link stepped out of the castle that evening, preparing to take what he needed for the journey ahead, he glanced over at Kiru and could _feel_ the exact moment she settled as the wolf for good. He stopped for one second, just to let his hands stop shaking, just to watch Kiru keep going ahead as if nothing had happened. And then he kept walking.

They didn’t talk about it. 

* * *

The champions, like Link, had all been gathered for their noteworthy skill in combat and for their shared goal of taking down Calamity Ganon. Unlike Link, however, they all stood alone. None of them had daemons.

Except for Urbosa. Her daemon was a dromedary camel, and whether that was fate or irony depended on who you asked. 

He’d met with them all before, of course—some _much_ earlier than others, namely Mipha and Daruk—mostly during the months of their selection and official designation of the champion title. Link had always considered the expeditions a respite, the journeys to and from the different communities of Hyrule both a breath of fresh air from the wilderness he’d missed and a needed reminder that there were still things outside the castle, outside the training yard, and outside the watchful eyes of Castle Town that never seemed to leave him. In a way, things felt less urgent in the other parts of the world. There was less _pressure_. 

Kiru, on the other hand, clearly didn’t take any comfort from it. 

Link hadn’t thought it was possible for her to get any more distant, but he’d been wrong. Her constant vigilance had started to tip into what could almost be called paranoia. When they rode on horseback along the safest of country roads, she was walking nearly thirty feet ahead to scout for danger at the cost of the twinging tug in his chest at the sheer _distance_ she’d put between them. When he had exhaustedly collapsed into bed after a long day of travel, she was already nudging him back up with whispers of _We need to keep watch, we need to keep training, our job’s not done yet._ When he found himself alone with the Princess (which was often, given how long they spent on the road these days and the inherent begrudging trust that came with the title of _personal knight_ ), Kiru ensured that—with her unwavering and unnerving habit of keeping tabs on her near constantly—Link never had his attention off her no matter what. 

When they were younger, she’d been more than happy to bark out whatever Link had needed or wanted to ask about, and for a while it had made the fact that speaking even the softest phrases aloud made it feel like an iron glove was crushing his chest manageable, at least. Those days were long gone. Now, Kiru only spoke to other people if it was absolutely necessary, in short and clipped growls fraught with tension. She barely spoke to the other daemons at all. She barely even spoke to _him_ anymore. Dimly, he understood in the back of his mind that this wasn’t something a daemon should be doing, but that thought would always vanish back into the depths whenever they ran into another monster on the road and had to snap into action once again. They had a job to do, and burdens to bear. If that meant Kiru had to be a little more distant, and Link had to be a little more composed, then it would be easier for the both of them just to deal with it on their own. 

It made trying to convince Kiru not to be like that around the other champions _hard_ , though. 

Mipha liked her well enough, _long_ before either of them had ever been called champions. Due to living in the Zora’s Domain most of her life—where creatures of the forest were rare and daemons rarer—she’d never stopped being enamored with all the different animals Kiru could take the form of, and the wolf was no exception. Whenever they met up with her on the road, or whenever they had gathered the champions together for some group training they, with all due respect, _desperately_ needed, she was always the first to end up approaching Kiru with a gentle smile and _Hello, Kiru. I hope you’ve been watching out for Link on your travels._ She’d been dismayed when she’d found out she couldn’t heal Kiru like she could heal Link after their shared scuffles and scrapes, in part because of him having to quietly explain that Hylian daemons didn’t like being touched by others—regardless of how good intentioned they were—and in part because of how stubborn his was. 

He appreciated it, though. He really did.

Daruk had _used_ to like her—and he claimed he still did, but the way he’d jumped when he first saw Kiru stalk out from behind him as a wolf had been funny regardless. The hostility of Death Mountain proved that he was even farther removed geographically from the concept of daemons than Mipha was (although his own travels had offset that by a considerable degree), and he’d grumbled multiple times that _she didn’t look like that the_ last _time we met,_ watching her warily out of the corner of his eye. Even without knowing about his fear of dogs (a funny story, really), Link honestly couldn’t blame him given just how intense she could be sometimes—or all the time. Still, he’d never let it get in the way of anything. Daruk was just as easygoing and steady and _fun_ as ever, and with how much he lit up the room Link found himself relaxing a little whenever he was by his side. And although she would never have admitted it, he thought he caught Kiru losing some of her own tension once or twice during their treks up Death Mountain, Daruk’s idle chatting lightening the air.

Revali, on the other hand, had somehow been even more offput by Kiru than he’d been by Link. While the Rito village was comparatively more accessible to travelers, Revali definitely wasn’t one to bother too much about something like a daemon, something that he could never use and would never apply to him—so he’d been absolutely _appalled_ to learn that, if someone’s daemon were killed, they would die too. _I can’t even_ imagine _the kind of liability that would be in battle,_ he’d jeered, not without a genuine hint of shock and maybe even begrudging amazement in his face. _I mean, seriously, are you telling me that our little chosen one here could ruin our whole plan if his_ dog _gets hurt?_ (Urbosa’s daemon Vahran promptly proceeded to nearly crush his talons for that, and Revali had never mentioned it again, although he kept shooting intense stares at Kiru with the kind of one-sided rivalry almost as strong as the one he had with Link himself).

And as for Urbosa… Well, as the only other champion with a daemon at all, her words could be a little more cutting than the rest. 

One day, in the middle of that first summer spent traveling from city to city and shrine to shrine, they’d stopped for a couple days in the far outskirts of Gerudo town (a sort of bazaar just outside the city walls, and the closest Link could get without being arrested) to meet up with Urbosa again. It had been Princess Zelda’s idea for Urbosa to try testing Link’s sparring skills while they were there, as they were both prolific warriors and would surely find each other a worthy opponent to practice against. Of course, neither of them would have ever backed down from a challenge like that, and they’d spent the afternoon trading blows in a training ring on the desert sands. For a while, it had been fun—dodging slashes of a scimitar as the gleaming hilt of the Master Sword sparked in his hands, only barely dulled by the blunt edge he’d put on the blade, and running side by side with Kiru while she circled Vahran as a distraction. Urbosa was good, _really_ good, and it had been a while since he’d faced someone with that kind of skill level in a fight. Plus, the Princess was safely within sight on the steps of the arena, using the bit of downtime they had to fiddle with her Sheikah Slate thing that Link had never truly found out how it worked-

Until suddenly, when they’d stopped to take a breather under the harsh, blazing sun, Link finally glanced over and realized for the first time that she wasn’t there anymore. 

Kiru must have noticed it right before him, because only a moment later she was leaping to her feet again with a frantic bark of “Link- The Princess! She’s _gone!”_ She’d bolted over to the stands Princess Zelda had last been seen in, sniffing wildly for the trail she’d missed in the heat of their sparring, and was just about to charge out the door in search of her when suddenly Vahran stepped forward to block her path. 

She paused for an explanation, but when Vahran simply stood there looking almost bored Link took it upon himself to whirl around to face Urbosa. Unlike the instant, seizing panic that had overtaken him— _the King will kill me if anything happened to her, I knew we shouldn’t have stopped for so long, I knew I shouldn’t have taken my eyes off of her, this was supposed to be my job_ —Urbosa just had an expression of mild amusement, a little smirk working its way onto her face. “Oh, calm down. I made sure she didn’t leave without one of my guards with her.”

It took Link a moment to realize what she meant, but as soon as he had he let out an irritated huff and waved at Kiru to follow him as he began to march past Urbosa. He had no idea when the Princess had snuck out, but the outskirts of Gerudo Town were crowded and busy and it would be so easy for her to get lost or get into trouble or-

(Deep down, Link knew that Princess Zelda was far more capable than a lot of people believed, and he’d spent enough time with her on the road to understand that well. She was smart, and fierce, and tough, and had handled herself easily throughout everything they’d been through so far. Maybe his worry was a more tangible fear—of the disapproving stare he’d seen out of King Rhoam more times than he could count ever since he’d been appointed to his daughter’s personal knight—or maybe it was something a little more selfish. _Saving Hyrule_ sounded so big, so hard, but _saving Zelda_ , or hopefully just keeping her safe, sounded like a much more manageable thing to focus on for the time being. Besides, the Calamity was supposed to be a group effort anyway. He felt guilty for it, but Link didn’t want to do it alone. He wasn’t sure if he could.)

This time, Urbosa held out an arm to stop him. “I said _cool it_ , boy. Sit down. Do you really think you can just race off into the desert after sparring for an hour without at _least_ drinking something? You’ll kill yourself.”

Well, of _course_ he could, and Kiru would rather let herself collapse from heatstroke than lie down on the job, but under Urbosa’s piercing gaze he found himself reluctantly taking a seat under the shade of one of the arena’s stands. Kiru shot him a glare as he did it, and yet after another moment’s hesitation she eventually took a seat at the entrance, watching and waiting for any hint of the Princess. It was _well_ over thirty feet away, but Link felt nothing—no stab of pain, no gut-wrenching sensation, not even a tug at the binds that held them together. Urbosa raised an eyebrow curiously as she pressed a glass of water into his hands, Vahran having already knelt beside her.

“Hm. So she wasn’t kidding when she said the two of you were stubborn,” She muttered to herself, while Link took another restless glance around the ring. He knew the Gerudo were tough people, and that Urbosa’s personal guard were undoubtedly some of the toughest, but it was hard to feel safe without the Princess in sight. It was hard to feel safe _anywhere_ nowadays.

Urbosa must have noticed the subtle flicker of worry he hadn’t been able to keep off his face, because she narrowed her eyes at him once again. “I mean, surely you know why she would want something like this. You of _all_ people would understand that.”

Link couldn’t stop himself from flinching, although the look Kiru gave him from across the room had him rushing to get composed again. He’d seen Princess Zelda take as many shrine detours as possible to avoid coming home. He’d seen her whispering to her daemon, Alba, in the dead of night with the kind of somberness of someone far older. He’d seen her snap at him for just _standing_ there sometimes. It was easy for him to understand why, and even easier to understand why she didn’t like him. That he could handle, though—it was the running off that really stressed him out. Now that he’d held the sword, _really_ held it, he couldn’t imagine the crushing shame of running away from that responsibility, or just how suffocating the feeling of letting everyone down would be. 

( _But you_ do _know,_ Kiru whispered to him softly, coldly. _You pulled the sword, and you weren’t ready._ )

Eventually, Link raised his hands to speak. “ _There’s more important things,_ ” he signed decisively, hesitating for a moment before solemnly adding “ _People are counting on us._ ” Like it or not, the choice wasn’t up to them—not like he could have ever fully understood what it was like for the Princess. He had at least had a couple years before taking on the responsibility ( _and the burden_ , he thought with a twinge of guilt) of the sword. Princess Zelda had been handed that duty the day she was born. 

Something changed in Urbosa’s expression. Link couldn’t read it fully, as the sharp intensity of her face was something that rarely changed, but for a moment he swore he saw her gaze soften. “You’ve got drive, boy, I’ll give you that. I’ve never met a kid who had even half the dedication you and the Princess have been showing.” She laughed, but there was a tinge of something gentler, something sadder in it. 

Link just nodded quietly and tried not to focus on the way his chest warmed ever so slightly, a mere shadow of the kind of reassurance praise like that had used to give him. 

They went silent for another minute, Urbosa giving up on the topic for now, as they let the burning ache from their limbs fade and finished off the glasses of water in their hands. The tension in him still hadn’t faded, and Urbosa could obviously tell—the restless way he kept glancing around the arena, the tight grip he had on the glass, even the muted pacing from Kiru as she walked back and forth and back again in front of the doorway waiting for him to finish. So although he’d been hoping she wouldn’t, he wasn’t surprised that, when he moved to stand back up, she raised a hand to stop him once more.

He wasn’t quite sure what he’d expected her to say, but it wasn’t for her to gesture casually over to Kiru and bemusedly ask “Your daemon. Has she always been able to go so far from you?” It was a question a Hylian—and _especially_ not the stuffy, prim-and-proper nobility Link found himself hanging around these days, who treated any irregularity in someone’s daemon like a scandal—wouldn’t have dared voice aloud, but he’d learned fast that the Gerudo didn’t have the same formality with daemons as they did. “That kind of range is something I normally only see in people with birds, or in soldiers who’ve spent years learning how to stretch their bonds inch by inch.” Urbosa unconsciously raised a hand to stroke Vahran’s neck, who had previously been keeping an eye on the arena entrance behind them.

“ _I guess not,_ ” Link shrugged absently, trying not to think about how, just a few years ago, the distance Kiru currently had between them would have been absolutely unbearable. “ _Things have changed. We’ve both been training._ ” He hoped that, with the vagueness of his words and the curtness of his gestures, Urbosa wouldn’t see it as something to worry about, because that meant _he’d_ have to see it as something to worry about. It was hard enough trying to be the Hero of Hyrule _without_ the fear that his daemon didn’t like him anymore.

This time, it was Vahran who let out a sudden huff of laughter from over Urbosa’s shoulder. “Well, that’s something you don’t see everyday,” She didn’t elaborate, but by the way Urbosa shot her a glare and elbowed her in the neck it was something she hadn’t wanted said. Link couldn’t guess what she’d meant by that. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to. 

“We’re just a little surprised, that’s all,” Urbosa continued, leaning back into Vahran’s side (who still towered over them, even lying down). “Daemon forms have a lot of meaning to the Gerudo. Canines tend to be pretty social and friendly—Kiru’s no dog, of course,” She paused to wink at him playfully. “But a wolf is loyal and dedicated, if not a little withdrawn at times. You should take pride in her, Link. She suits you.”

_She suits you._ Link stole another glance over at Kiru, who was impatiently sitting by the door with her ears drawn back, and felt a pang of something he couldn’t fully describe. “ _Of course she does,_ ” He signed with unconvincing, hesitant hands. “ _She’s supposed to always settle that way, so…_ ”

His fingers trailed off as Urbosa shook her head, like it was something he just didn’t understand. “Kid, you get that I don’t mean it like that, right?” She reached over to pat him on the shoulder, the force of it making him jump a little. “She’s not just the _Hero’s_ daemon, you know? She’s also _you._ ”

Link stopped, his breath catching in his throat. He raised his hands to speak, but he couldn’t get them to move. Instead, he just nodded slowly, aimlessly, in a way that made it clear he didn’t really believe it. 

They spent another couple minutes in silence, before the lingering tension in him caused Link to finally stand and head for the arena entrance. _I need to find her, I’ll be back,_ he signed hastily as Kiru already began to tug him forward. Urbosa and Vahran didn’t get the chance to reply before he was under the light of the desert sun again, Kiru sniffing relentlessly at the sands below in an attempt to track Princess Zelda’s rapidly fading scent. 

Kiru stayed thirty feet ahead of him almost the entire search. Link tried not to think about it. 

* * *

If there was one thing he never doubted himself on, it was his ability to fight.

Link had trained for battle as long as he could remember, and probably even longer. If his long family line of guards and knights was to be believed, it was basically in his blood—and ever since he’d drawn the Master Sword, it was quite literally in his _soul._ In the years he’d spent at the castle, he learned how to not only lead himself but lead others into the fight, how to dodge a Lynel’s arrow, how to keep marching even when the eyes of his fellow guards on him felt like burning hands around his throat. He’d learned, with more self-discipline than he ever could have imagined, how to _stop_ acting like Link and _start_ acting like the Hero of Hyrule, the hero people needed to see. 

And when it came to the battlefield, it was almost easy to become the hero, for people to _see_ that he was. Link and Kiru were terrifying together, lunging and defending and rushing forth in such perfect sync that you never would have been able to guess just how frayed their bond truly was. Kiru would dart into crowds of monsters upon monsters in a way most soldiers would have never _dared_ to do and drive them directly into the waiting blade of the Sword That Seals The Darkness, and when that wasn’t enough she would leap forward and sink her teeth into the closest creature without so much as a flinch from Link himself. Their fighting style was almost unheard of among the ranks of the Hyrule military, but it made perfect sense for the hero of legend, who’s daemon was the living embodiment of courage and fighting spirit and would _never_ have been content to play it safe like a soldier’s daemon normally would. 

It was that small confidence that allowed Link to believe in his own abilities, regardless of the kinds of rumors people said about him. Like most other things, he’d managed to learn how to face the criticisms and scathing words about Hyrule’s too-young, too-silent knight with quiet stoicism. 

He’d never learned how to face Kiru.

In a time when practically everyone was either beyond impressed with Link’s skill or beyond changing their mind, Kiru remained the last person to truly keep pushing him. The urgency and tension she showed was terrifying even compared to the growing realization that the Calamity _was_ drawing nearer, and that their time to be _ready_ was getting smaller and smaller. And although Princess Zelda had suffered the worst of that terror—as both her latent powers and daemon refused to settle—for the most part people were willing to accept that Link would surely display the true power of the Master Sword any day now, or that he already had.

It wasn’t happening, and Kiru wouldn’t let him forget it.

One night, when they’d stopped back at Hyrule Castle after some… _Events_ in the Gerudo Desert, Kiru had dragged Link out of bed and into his champion’s clothes in order to train with the sword a little before dawn and the inevitable debate over whether it was _really_ okay for the Princess to be going out with just her appointed knight for supervision, and whether they could _really_ allow her to keep making research trips at times like this. It wouldn’t be a discussion he had much of a voice in, chosen hero or not, but it was one he still privately hoped Princess Zelda won. Despite their past clashes, his duty to accompany her was one of the only times he got to step foot out of Castle Town, and she really did seem to be happiest away from the unrelenting gaze of the palace. It was something they had in common—something that, as he was starting to learn, was far from the only thing. 

But as Kiru stood across from him that night in one of the many courtyards of Hyrule Castle, her eyes glinting in the light of the moon glowing overhead, those thoughts couldn’t have been further out of his head. 

Her moves had become more unpredictable than ever over the years they’d trained together, and tonight was no exception. She dove under every swing, lunged through every defense, and snarled at every hint of hesitation. Gone were the days of practice sticks and purposefully dulled blades—now, they sparred with the Master Sword unsheathed and glinting in all its glory, because _How will you perfect using it if you don’t use it how it is?_ and _How will you learn control if there is no real consequence?_

(It terrified him. It _terrified_ him to have to use the sword with her, terrified that one wrong move would cut through a limb or slice through her throat and then there wouldn’t _be_ a hero to train anymore. He suspected that was why Kiru insisted on training like this in the first place.)

With every day that passed, she seemed to learn a completely new maneuver that would throw Link for a loop for all but a moment. He would wonder sometimes if it was the instincts of past heroes kicking in, and although he’d never quite learned the extent of what she remembered about his prior incarnations she certainly _acted_ like she did. Kiru didn’t just fear Calamity Ganon like so many of them did—she spoke about it as if she _knew_ it, or at least knew of the kinds of things it was capable of. 

So she kept pushing him. And they kept training, night after night, until-

Link wasn’t sure what was different about that night. It might have been because he was still a little shaken after the Yiga clan incident, and the fact that he hadn’t slept more than an hour at a time on their hurried trek home in fear that they were being followed. It might have been because Kiru was hounding him unusually hard, snapping her jaws as a warning whenever his defense slipped. It might have even been because of what Princess Zelda had said to him on their way back, during one of his night watches— _You look exhausted, Link. You… You look like you’ve been exhausted for a while_ —which hadn’t left his mind since (it was the first time someone had noticed in longer than he could remember). He didn’t know what the reason was, but what he did know was that his normally near-perfect fighting form was slipping. That when he went to take a swing at Kiru, she not only effortlessly dodged out of the way, but he stumbled—stumbled _hard_ —and suddenly he was on the ground, sword clattering out of his hands, and felt the unmistakable glint of teeth against his throat. 

He was scrambling out of the way and to his feet only a moment afterward, but it was already too late. Kiru was still standing there, fangs bared in a snarl, and Link frantically held up a hand to signal for them to stop. _Kiru, please-_

“They would have killed you,” She said softly, suddenly, the words nothing short of haunted. “They would have killed you the moment you fell.” 

They stared at each other for a few seconds, before Link cautiously took another step forward in an attempt to bridge the gap between them. With one hand still gripping the Master Sword, he raised the other to sign as best as he could. “ _We’re tired. Long day._ _It’s-_ “

“ _No!”_ Kiru cried out, her bark echoing out against the courtyard walls. “Do you have _any_ idea of what the Calamity will be like? What _they_ will be like?” Her voice was panicked and cutting and roaring all at once. “I’ve seen it over and over again! If you slip up, they will kill you. If you make the wrong move, they will kill you. And then they will kill _everyone!_ If you make any mistake—any mistake at _all_ —then it’s _over,_ Link. We can’t stop, or we’re not going to be ready.” 

And he knew that. He’d known that ever since he’d pulled the Master Sword from the Great Hyrule Forest. But as he stared into Kiru’s eyes, as she growled at him like he was still the same child hiding the sacred sword under his bed, he realized that nothing had changed. While he’d become even quieter, even more reserved, and learned how to shut off every part of him that was scared so that he could at least _look_ like the hero he needed to be, he was still just a boy in too-big guard’s clothes wandering around a too-big castle. He wasn’t ready to be a hero. He didn’t know if he _could_ be a hero.

He didn’t know if he’d ever even _wanted_ to be.

“ _Stop. STOP,_ ” Link found himself signing with shaking, angry hands, the Master Sword clattering to the ground in his rush to speak. “ _We’re training as hard as we can._ I’m _doing the best I can._ ” 

“And it’s _not enough!”_ Kiru snarled back, her jaws snapping shut in fury. “Ganon is more powerful than you could ever imagine. If you can’t perfect yourself, if _we_ can’t perfect ourselves, then it will _never_ be good enough!”

“ _No,_ I’ve _never been good enough for_ you!” He was signing it before he even realized what he was saying, but at this point he was too worked up to care. “ _I’m not the hero you wanted. I’m sorry. But there’s so many people counting on us-_ “

Something changed in Kiru’s expression, like a spark of fire in her dark eyes. “You think I don’t know that already?” Her voice was a low, vicious growl, and Link actually flinched a little as just how spiteful it sounded. “Do you have any idea—any idea at all—how many _children_ I grew up with, time and time again? How many _children_ I saw lose their homes, their families, their friends? How many _children_ I had to help teach to fight, how many I had to lead to the sword even though they were younger than _you?”_ Kiru panted for a moment, but her piercing gaze didn’t falter. “I will _not_ let you be unprepared again.”

Her words had Link frozen, his hands burning too badly to respond properly. He desperately, desperately didn’t want to believe it, because not only did that mean he was even more of a coward than he’d thought, but he had absolutely no excuse for it either. Finally, he managed to still his shaking hands enough to say “ _You don’t know that. You don’t_ remember _that. You would have said something._ ” He took another step back as Kiru’s teeth glinted in the moonlight.

“Does it matter? I don’t _have_ to know to understand the kinds of things we’ll have to face,” She countered coldly, eyes narrowed. “And they will be relentless. If you make a mistake, you’ll fail, and _everyone_ will suffer _,_ Link,” Kiru suddenly raised her head towards one of the castle towers. “Don’t try to tell me it won’t happen. Even a couple days ago, in the Gerudo Desert—those Yiga footsoldiers would have slit Princess Zelda’s throat where she stood on the sand if you’d been even a second late. Could you imagine if you made that kind of mistake against a monster horde? Or Ganon, even?”

Link took another step back, his heart pounding in his chest. 

“You have done this before,” It should have been encouraging. Kiru should have been encouraging him, like she’d done when he was little and tripping over his own feet when practicing with her out in the yard with a stick. Now, she stared at him unblinkingly, threateningly, with a voice like ice and fangs bared like a wild animal. “And you _will_ do it again.”

And Link wanted to _scream,_ he wanted to cry, he wanted to yell at her that he didn’t know if he _could_ and that he was doing everything in his power to make it so that other people didn’t find out, even when the weight of everyone’s eyes on him made his chest feel like caving in—but when he opened his mouth, all that came from his throat was a cracked, strangled wheeze as his body started to realize that they were out in a _completely exposed_ courtyard where anyone could have seen him crack. There was a roaring in his ears, and he couldn’t _breathe_ over the sudden sharp pain in his chest, and yet Kiru was just standing in front of him like nothing was wrong. Although his daemon was only a few feet away, in that moment he’d never felt more alone. 

He didn’t know how long he stood there, as he frantically fought to control the shuddering gasps that tore from his lungs and the burn of tears building in his eyes with _no no no no please—_ because he knew if he started crying now he’d never, ever be able to stop—before he finally felt the tug of Kiru’s teeth in his sleeve in a way that told him to get it together. Somehow the Master Sword was pressed back into his hands, and somehow she was half-leading and half-dragging him through the halls of the castle, and then he was suddenly back in his room he could only barely recognize through the blur of his own vision. Link went to bed that night still struggling to breathe right, still feeling the crushing weight of the sword on his chest even though he’d set it aside for the night, as Kiru was standing watch over the room, guarding his moment of weakness. 

The next morning, when he went to accompany the Princess to meet with her father, his face was still and his tears had dried. Kiru, for the first time in weeks, was seated by his side.

* * *

The Calamity was coming, and they were running out of time.

It was something he had heard time and time again, from the concerned citizens that lined the streets, to the nobles who argued in the royal courts, to even the King himself as Link knelt on the polished floor—and Zelda, staring at the ground as her father berated her, may as well have been too. Her power _had_ to be awakened by then, or all of their efforts, the champion’s efforts, the _kingdom’s_ efforts, would be for nothing. And so, as Link watched from where he stood powerlessly in the background, King Rhoam issued more and more orders with heavy hand and heavy heart, from restricting Zelda’s research to sending them on yet another trip to the sacred springs that only ever ended in anguish and exhaustion. Every time, Link found himself staring at the ground to avoid having to meet the burning eyes of the King of Hyrule. 

So they kept traveling. And with every day spent out of the castle, he saw Zelda become a different person entirely.

It had started ever since the attack in the Gerudo Desert, when for the first time their ride home hadn’t been thick with silent tension simmering below the surface (it had still been pretty silent, but a lot less tense nonetheless). One night, as Link had once again opted to take watch for as long as he possibly could in order to try and shake the fear left-over from having to fight off Yiga clan footsoldiers, Zelda—solemnly leaning up against a tree, clutching Alba close to her chest in the form of a long-haired cat—had quietly apologized out of the blue. It had been sudden, and soft, and both Link and Kiru had looked up sharply from where they were looking out over the dark hills. He’d nodded once, quickly, in what he’d thought was genuine acceptance over her running off, but that seemed to have only made things worse. Zelda had sniffled just once, her hands trembling from where they were pressed into Alba’s fur, and whispered _No, I- I’m so sorry, Link. You must hate me for all of this._

He got the full story in bits and pieces. He knew about her struggles with her powers, about how her daemon still wasn’t settled long after what was considered a normal settling age, about the nasty rumors that circulated around the castle and made him feel guilty to even hear. He knew that she’d been ranked against him ever since he’d brought the sword to the throne room, regardless of whether he’d wanted that or not. What he _didn’t_ know, however, was that Zelda had been _convinced_ that Link had hated her the moment they’d met. He’d sat there in surprise for a moment while Zelda quickly added _Again, I realize now that it was foolish, and- And very presumptuous of me-_ before he shook his head fervently, reassuringly. She’d eased a little after that, but the thought had stayed with him all night. And then the next, and the next, as each day brought new revelations and confessions and regrets, made hesitant by the quiet tension that still hung between them.

But the barrier had been broken. For Zelda, that meant she was practically working overtime to make up for the animosity she’d showed him in the beginning. For Link, that meant the walls he’d spent years building around himself, to keep himself standing, had to finally start cracking. 

He found he didn’t really mind as much as he thought he would. 

It wasn’t comforting, by any meaning of the word—if he could, Link would have gladly taken the burden of _divine birthright_ off of Zelda’s hands, so at least only one of them would have had to stand in the fathomless shoes of their predecessors—but there was a camaraderie, at least, in knowing they had similar duties to fulfill. While they couldn’t make each other’s jobs any easier, it was the thought that they wouldn’t have to stand alone for it either that allowed the ice to finally thaw.

Case in point, a trip to the Spring of Courage.

“... And you would _think_ that Alba here-“ Zelda paused to stroke one of her daemon’s ear-tufts affectionately, as he sat perched on her shoulder in the form of a great-horned owl, his favorite shape. “-Would have at least _tried_ to settle by now, considering our sixteenth birthday has long since come and gone,” Despite the mild frustration in her words, it was clear she held no real animosity towards him. “Perhaps it would get my father off our backs for a little while, hm?”

They were riding along a trail in the Faron Grasslands, the sun lowering in the sky with clouds on the horizon promising a gloomy, grey evening. While Link and Zelda (plus Alba currently sitting next to her) were all essentially side-by-side, Kiru was scouting out the road a solid twenty feet ahead, her ears pricked to attention and sniffing at the wind every so often. It was far from an uncommon sight to see her still so far away, and even though Zelda had once confessed that she’d used to think Kiru keeping such a distance from him—combined with her being the only one to speak out of the two of them—was disconcerting at best, they’d all long since gotten used to it. 

“I’m telling you, I _have_ been trying,” Alba crowed back, with the same playful irritance that had been in Zelda’s voice as he flapped his wings indignantly. “And I’ve been doing better at holding the owl form, haven’t I? Surely it should be any day now.” Unlike Zelda, however, there was a kind of soft optimism in the way he leaned into her shoulder supportively, reassuringly, while she already seemed mostly resigned to have a proper settling be just as out of reach for her as her sealing powers. 

That was something Link had learned too after becoming Zelda’s appointed knight. It was hard not to notice the way the two of them treated each other—namely, just how much they weren’t like him and Kiru. Zelda and Alba rarely spent more than a moment apart, constantly chatting and conferring and checking in with one another. Link saw it in the way Alba peered over her shoulder curiously as a hightail lizard while she hurriedly jotted down some research notes on the go. He saw it in the way he would shift into a Hylian Retriever in the moments before she would have to break the lack of progress to her father, letting her run her fingers through his mottled fur as a small comfort. He saw it in the way he swam circles around her as a river eel when she knelt in the water of the sacred springs, his erratic swimming betraying her frustration and exhaustion. And every time, Link would spare a glance at Kiru, who was almost always standing utterly still and emotionless several feet away, and try to ignore the pang of longing he felt. 

He was jolted out of his thoughts by Zelda’s muttered response of “You keep _saying_ that, Alba, but you make it very hard to believe you sometimes,” Alba blinked innocuously at her, and she gave a short huff before suddenly turning to Link, nudging her daemon to do the same. “And don’t say anything about it being a- A _chosen-one_ thing! Link, you’ve been settled for _ages,_ haven’t you? Even before you came to the castle, right?” She lamented, letting out a sigh as she waited for his confirmation. 

Link, on the other hand, was once again taken aback in genuine surprise, because that _definitely_ wasn’t true (although, he belatedly supposed that if Kiru insisted on taking the wolf form every single time they were out in public ever since he’d presented the Master Sword, it would be a pretty reasonable assumption to make). Normally, it would have been a question Kiru would have answered for him—despite his ease around horses, he was always reluctant to take his hands off the reins—and by “answered” she would have given a noncommittal grunt that caused the conversation to taper off awkwardly. But Kiru was twenty feet in front of him, scanning the trail ahead, so Link ended up shaking his head in response and quickly signing “ _Two years ago, actually. When I was promoted,_ ” feeling a little quiver in his hands at the honesty of it. 

He watched as Zelda did the math in her head, her eyes widening (there was a time when she would have faltered upon seeing him raise his hands to speak, but by now she’d long since picked up on most of his signs). “Really? But… That was all the way back when…” She trailed off slowly, a look of deep disconcertment coming over her face at the realization that she simply hadn’t noticed. “Oh. I- I apologize, Link, I should have known about it beforehand. You’ll have to forgive me, I know it’s-” 

Quickly, Link cut her off with a gentle wave of his hand that had come to mean _it’s okay,_ before properly signing “ _No big deal. I didn’t really tell anyone anyway._ ” Immediately, though, he could tell he’d said the wrong thing, because Zelda went from looking moderately surprised to audibly gasping. 

“You didn’t tell _anyone?_ Surely you reached out to your family at _least._ Not even a close friend?” His silence spoke volumes, and Zelda’s grip on the reigns of her horse tightened suddenly. Even Alba looked shocked. “... Link, you’re telling me you _never_ had a settling ceremony?”

He’d wanted one, of course, but that was just another thing he’d ended up leaving behind upon drawing the sword. _Every_ kid looked forward to the day their daemon would settle, and the kind of joy and excitement and maturity it would (hopefully) bring. But ever since he’d learned that Kiru—his _soul_ —had never really been his to begin with, the thought of having a ceremony about her felt awkward and redundant and the last thing he’d wanted was even more attention on him. And by the time she really did settle, everything had become too busy to warrant wasting time on something like that, and far too inconvenient. 

But as Link shook his head slowly, he could have never realized that Zelda—who must have grown up surrounded by the strictest of daemon etiquette rules—might have reacted in such a way. She shot a glance at Alba, as if mentally conferring with him for a moment on what to do, before turning back to face him with a glint of steely determination in her eyes that he knew all too well. “... Alright, then. We can surely remedy that. I do wish we were a little closer to a town, but I suppose we’ll have to make do with what we have- Link, where do you think the best place to make camp for tonight would be? It’s _your_ ceremony, after all, you should get to choose.”

For a moment, he just stared at her blankly, feeling the flush of embarrassment come over him before he could squash it down. Hastily, Link signed something along the lines of “ _Don’t need one, let’s keep moving, it would be too busy for me anyway._ ” The last part was already out before he even realized he’d said it, and with a quick intake of breath and sharp swallow that would have been unnoticeable to anyone—except for someone, perhaps, that he was assigned to shadow almost every hour of the day—he frantically composed himself yet again. 

(Because what kind of hero would he be if he got nervous in _crowds?)_

Zelda’s enthusiasm softened a little bit, as Alba shifted into a bushy-tailed squirrel that scampered down to rest by her hand. “Then we can have one that’s just us, then. Imagine, one of the highest-ranking knights in Hyrule not even having a proper _settling ceremony?_ Why, the kingdom must be in ruins,” She gave a slightly strained laugh, and he thought about correcting her that, chosen knight or not, he could never come close to standing with the nobility of Hyrule, but he stopped upon hearing the genuine tentativeness in her voice that told him just how meaningful the offer was. “Besides, we won’t make it to the Spring of Courage by tonight anyway. May as well set up camp sooner and get an early start tomorrow, hm?”

And because Link knew that, once Zelda set her eyes on something, she would never lose focus no matter how hard someone tried to get her to stop—a stubbornness he’d experienced firsthand time and time again—he reluctantly found himself picking out a spot by a rock jutting out of the ground and a few shady trees, relatively sheltered from the elements and any creatures that happened to be wandering the grasslands at night. They tied their horses to the sturdiest-looking tree, hung a tent by a stake, and started working on a fire that would likely take them a little while to get going strong. Kiru, ever on edge, sniffed around the area for a solid ten minutes before feeling secure enough to take up her regular seat (fifteen feet away, watching the open plains with piercing eyes).

Link barely had enough time to sit down after ensuring they wouldn’t be in any danger before Zelda was already rooting through their pack of supplies with a _Now, most modern settling ceremonies involve three key elements—an official proclamation and interpretation of a daemon’s settled form, often done by close family or friends, a traditional meal served for the entire gathering, and a physical insignia crafted for the guest of honor. Unfortunately, this won’t be the most…_ Conventional _ceremony I’ve ever attended, so we’ll have to make do with what we have. Which means we should probably get started with the meal, then..._ She continued to dig through the bag, Alba helpfully holding it open. 

Eventually, after she’d pulled out a couple ingredients—what looked to be some mushrooms and herbs, along with the singular bottle of milk they’d brought with that miraculously hadn’t broken yet—and a quick confirmation from Link that yes, he’d eat whatever, she got to work on firing up their cooking pot. Within ten minutes, it became clear that despite her efforts to learn from him, Zelda’s admittedly wide skillset… Did not yet include cooking. Although he offered to help—multiple times—she was adamant on doing it herself ( _The guest doesn’t make their own dish, Link! The whole point of honoring someone is that you do it for them!)_ which meant he ended up sitting awkwardly to the side for a while half-scanning the grasslands for danger and half-watching Zelda and Alba bicker on whether the mushroom or herbs were supposed to go in first. 

It took a while, but finally she was standing over a pot of only _slightly_ burnt mostly-mushroom stew, and by then Link couldn’t ignore the faint rumbling in his stomach. Vaguely charred or not, and regardless of the fact that he could already tell that the herbs definitely should have gone in first (Alba had been right on that one) it didn’t change how much of an appetite he kept building due to all the energy the sword constantly required him to burn. Almost as soon as Zelda had put the bowl into his hands, he was already taking sips out of it, to which she hastily chided _Be careful, won’t you? That’s hot! And I still have to- Oh, nevermind,_ and with another sigh, she sat down too and started picking at her own bowl—albeit much more tentatively.

They were quiet for a little while as they ate, the sounds of chirping bugs in the field filling the air as they tried their hardest not to let the taste of blackened mushrooms burn their mouths. Link supposed it was nice—although he certainly wasn’t missing out on personally-cooked meals given how often they were on the road, the warm feeling he got from it had never truly faded. In a time that couldn’t be any further from the countryside he’d grown up in, it felt good to have something that reminded him of home, if just a little bit. 

His expression must have slipped slightly as he worked to finish off his bowl—a hint of a smile, an almost undetectable easing of his grip—and although it faded soon on instinct alone, Zelda must have noticed. Her apologetic comments over it being _far_ from a proper meal for a settling ceremony had noticeably gone quiet, instead opting to watch Link out of the corner of her eye while idly scratching Alba’s fur. By the time they were done, she was already rising to her feet and clearing her throat as if preparing for some great speech. 

“Alright, then, customarily a family member—normally a parent—will speak to the whole party commending the settling of the guest’s daemon.” There was an awkward pause as she looked out over their unimpressive camp—Link, his champion’s tunic smudged with dirt from a day’s worth of travel, and Kiru, who was essentially ignoring them. “... But I suppose I’ll have to do for now. Could you both come a bit closer?” 

Link stood up immediately, and after a moment turned around to stare at Kiru, who was clearly listening anyway judging by the way her ear was tilted back toward them. _Please?_ He thought at her, if only because this was important to Zelda—which, due to the fact that he’d been assigned to protect her wherever she went, made it important to him—and _not_ because, after everything they’d gone through, there was still a little part of him that wished they’d gotten to have something normal like this.

_Definitely_ not that.

And eventually, following a _long_ sigh from Kiru that reverberated in his head for a solid five seconds, she reluctantly got to her feet and padded over to stand by his side. Zelda, on the other hand, gave them an encouraging smile, which instantly made up for Kiru’s grumbling. She cleared her throat, again, and Alba shifted back into a great horned owl to give the whole thing at least a _little_ officiality.

“Link and Kiru,” She started, and suddenly they were back at the sacred grounds, except this time there was _real_ pride in her voice. “It is with the greatest of honors that we welcome you both, in your settled states, to our kingdom, our lands, and our homes. On this day, we designate you as having grown in the ways of the soul, and not just the body. Our daemons are the most sacred parts of ourselves, reflecting our true natures more definitively than any other countenance. A daemon is a window to the soul, and the form of a wolf…”

It was then that she trailed off for a moment, her expression focusing as the formal, ceremonious demeanor began to fade ever so slightly. “... A wolf is a sign of courageousness, sure. But it is also the mark of someone with great compassion, who cares for others simply because it is the kind thing to do. They might be quiet, or keep to themselves, but never because they are in a place of haughtiness or indignance. Most of all, they-“ Zelda swallowed suddenly, concentratedly. “They will stay dedicated no matter what the challenge, and no matter what the cost, even if it is to themselves.”

He wondered, in the long pause that came after her words, when she had stopped talking about wolves and started talking about him.

“We could make it a lot longer, you know,” Alba finally spoke up, causing everyone else—even Kiru—to jump a little. “You’d better be glad we’re deciding to keep it short and sweet. Some of the settling ceremonies back at the palace could get pretty long-winded, if you know what I mean-“

“ _Alba!_ You’re ruining the moment!” Zelda scolded, embarrassed, but by the time she had collected herself again it was already too late. Despite the at _least_ semi-formal demeanor she was trying to maintain, a ghost of a smile flickered onto her face at Alba’s words. “I- Oh, fine. I’ll spare you two the traditional speech, if you _insist,_ ” Even then, she was fighting a laugh as she said it. “Link and Kiru, as both Hylian and Daemon and royal knights of Hyrule, we commend you on your settling. We wish you well, and hope that the two of you will grow stronger as one.”

Link bowed curtly, but even he couldn’t help but put a little flourish into it as Kiru lowered her head graciously beside him. It all felt so odd—Zelda paraphrasing speeches in the middle of an open grassland, Alba chuckling on her shoulder, himself and Kiru standing side-by-side just like that day in the sacred grounds—except _unlike_ the sacred grounds, there was a smile on Zelda’s face and a warm breeze in the air. And for a moment—just a moment—he could pretend like they weren’t going to the Spring of Courage, that they weren’t the Princess of Hyrule and Hylian Champion, and that the weight of the Master Sword wasn’t strewn across his shoulders.

(And he knew it wasn’t a real ceremony, and that he would never have one either. So he supposed this one would have to do).

“ _Thank you, Princess Zelda, for the kind words. I_ do _hope I’m not haughty,_ ” Link found himself signing humorously, jokingly, before he had even realized he was saying it. The words almost came easily to him—almost. “ _And Alba, thank_ you _for your infinite mercy. Long speeches are our biggest weakness._ ” For an instant, he let himself smile at what he’d said. 

And then that moment ended. 

As soon as he’d recognized what he’d done, a sudden jab of gut-wrenching fear had him compulsively sinking into a bow again, if only so he didn’t have to look either of them in the eye. He had never spoken to Alba directly before. Speaking to someone’s daemon implied a certain level of familiarity, of casual intimacy, and yet if Link had done it to anyone else, it wouldn’t have been that big of a deal—but this was Zelda, and Zelda was _different,_ and in Hyrule Castle that kind of etiquette breach to the _royal family of Hyrule_ would be enough to get someone demoted. It was a boundary he never should have crossed. If anyone found out, if her _father_ found out, then he’d surely be punished, and the Master Sword strapped to his back would be unable to save him. It had been a mistake to even start speaking. It had been a mistake to even start letting those walls down. It had been a mistake-

“There’s no one here, Link,” Came Zelda’s soft voice, at the same time Kiru poked her nose into his leg in a way that could almost be called gentle to snap him out of it. He looked back up, not without a hint of sheepishness, to stare into her face that had suddenly gone somber. “We have spent more than enough time together. You can stand.” _And speak your mind,_ her eyes said, a silent plea he’d grown to recognize after having devoted over a year of his life to be her personal guard. Reluctantly, Link rose to his feet again and nodded quietly, hoping it didn’t betray the ounce of guilt he felt settling into his stomach at the thought of having brought back the tension in the air, of having let someone down. _Again._

Alba gave him a look of acceptance, and it made him feel just a little bit better.

Zelda seemed to recover some of her confidence at the vague easing of his body, that radiant smile returning. “And- And besides, we still have one more thing to do! Link, if you’ll just- Come stand over here-“ She waved him over to the opposite side of the rock, away from the light of camp, and as he hesitantly followed Kiru padded behind him with a half-amused snort that came off more as blatant irritation. He stood awkwardly against a nearby tree, trying to ignore the prickle of discomfort he got at not being able to scan the full grassland for danger, but eventually stopped shuffling in place at Zelda’s words of “Now, this is the most important part of the ceremony, so it’s _imperative_ that you don’t come back over until I _expressly_ say so, alright? This is an _order,_ Link, can you handle that?” Even then, despite her sudden intensity, she was only able to hold it for a moment before letting herself laugh a bit at her own joke, as if to make it clear she wasn’t being serious, and that she still wasn’t _actually_ upset (he wasn’t sure what it said about him that he needed to be reminded). 

Link hadn’t seen her so excited since they’d left the castle a couple weeks prior. He nodded once, resolutely, and turned to stare into the open prairie. 

He wasn’t sure exactly how long he stood there, keeping an eye on their horses and the fields below. For the most part, the night was quiet and still—minus Zelda’s occasional whisper of _Alba, hold this a little tighter- No, not like that! You’re going to put claw marks in it!_ and the sound of Alba’s indignant squawks. It was hard not to smile just a little (through the lingering guilt) at their muffled back-and-forth banter, which he only really ever got to hear out on the road, far away from the crushing expectations and responsibilities of the kingdom. Those duties never went away, of course, and Zelda would always go quiet again after a little while, but it was still nice to hear regardless. It was a reminder, perhaps, that there still existed a _Zelda_ and not just a _Princess Zelda of Hyrule, divine incarnation of Hylia._ Whether that reminder was for Link or for herself was anyone’s guess.

Kiru, on the other hand, was just as silent as ever, although with every little outcry from the other side of camp she tilted her head to listen in curiously. That was the far more unusual occurrence—Kiru’s less-than-stellar track record when it came to communication (not that Link could claim any better) hadn’t exactly _improved_ upon spending time around Zelda and Alba, per se, although she was at least polite with them most of the time. She still barely spoke to them outside of necessity, of course, but it was a marginal improvement regardless. For all the years she’d spent half-ignoring him, Link was willing to take what he could get. 

“-Okay! Okay, I think it’s just about...“ He jolted upon hearing Zelda’s voice from around the corner, listening to the way she almost immediately started to trail off just as she’d spoken up. “... Well, it’s not going to get any better,” She grumbled under her breath before, in what was at least an attempt at being cheery, calling out “Alright, Link, you can come back over now!”

Taking a moment to stretch, Link—with Kiru close on his heels—turned around to step back into their little campsite, only to find Zelda seated against a rock with what appeared to be some _incredibly_ suspicious looking cuts on her fingers, hiding something he couldn’t see inside of her traveling cloak. Alba, looking mildly unimpressed (for an owl, of course), was perched on the ground two feet away. Following Link’s concerned eye, she glanced down at her hand before dismissively saying “What? Oh, this is nothing. Sit down, sit down,” a command he reluctantly followed as he took a seat next to her.

Zelda watched him closely as he did, a weird note of hesitance clouding her expression, although as soon as he’d settled in she was already clearing her throat to speak again. “As you know, it’s customary for a settling ceremony’s guest of honor to receive a personally crafted, physical insignia of their daemon’s fixed form,” Now, the hesitance had turned to what almost looked like genuine embarrassment. “And- Well, I know I’m not the most _accomplished_ craftsman, especially when it comes to woodcarving, but…” She sighed deeply, and with an almost comical amount of regret, finally removed her fingers from her cloak to press something into Link’s hands.

It was a small wooden disc—like a medal, almost, with a little piece of ribbon attached to tie it onto a coat or sash or some other equally flashy clothing. Carved onto it was a shaky drawing of a wolf’s head, fangs bared and eyes solemn, jagged around the edges and looking much more like a rough sketch than the kind of extravagant, luxurious daemon-themed crests and capes and jewelry he’d seen on Castle Town nobles. On this medal, there were no such embellishments—just a wolf, and nothing more (although he was a solid forty percent sure Zelda had included Kiru’s little head stripe in her carving). He had no idea where she’d even gotten the materials for this. He hadn’t even known that she _could_ do this.

It didn’t look like a traditional palace settling gift at all. It looked like something someone would make for a friend.

“... I know, it’s completely unacceptable work, isn’t it?” Zelda’s dejected voice suddenly cut into his thoughts. “I fear I may have let myself get too carried away with this. I- I did _not_ treat this project with the kind of proper respect it deserves, and for that I have to apologize to the both of you. When we get back to Hyrule Castle, I’ll be sure to start designing something _much_ more high quality-“

And then, out of nowhere, Link _laughed._

It was a short, raspy sound, made faint by just how little he smiled nowadays, let alone laughed, but it was a laugh nonetheless. He could still feel the rumble in his chest as his chuckling subsided, the noise such a surprise even to him that for a moment he wasn’t sure what to do with himself. Eventually, he cleared his throat sheepishly, and gently tilted the medal for Kiru to see before raising his free hand to speak. “ _No, it’s okay. I like it,_ ” He paused to watch for Kiru’s reaction, and when she finally nodded slowly, approvingly, he continued on with an affirmative “We _like it.”_

“Are- Are you sure?” Zelda asked skeptically, although Alba from his perch on the ground was looking more and more optimistic by the minute. “You’re allowed to tell me if you don’t like it, you know. Really, I can go have something _so_ much better made for you. It’s just… Plain,” She trailed off quietly, her eyes betraying the lack of confidence she was trying so hard not to let get to her. In response, Link took the medal and tied it to his champion’s tunic, through a little tear it had gotten a couple days back while fighting off Bokoblins on the trail. It wasn’t too secure, and he’d have to be sure to get it properly pinned on sometime soon, but for now it would do fine. The wooden medal brightened slightly in the dying campfire light, and he watched as a tentative smile eventually flickered onto Zelda’s face. 

They kept talking for a little while, mostly just Zelda speaking aloud as they cleaned up camp for the night and Link giving occasional, but relaxed, answers. They’d had to clean out their cooking pot, check back on their horses, and re-pack most of their things for what would likely be an early start to their trek tomorrow, but by the time they were done they were already more than worn out by the day’s events. Link found himself fighting sleep leaning up against the rock beside their tent, trying to stay awake to keep watch, Zelda sitting five feet away with Alba curled up in her lap as a Hylian Retriever. Kiru was lying on the other side of the fire, now just glowing embers and smoke, her pricked ears the only indication that she was still listening for trouble out on the open plains.

At some point, Zelda’s tired gaze had fallen on Kiru, and he couldn’t help but catch the way that all-too-familiar spark of curiosity glinted in her eyes. Link gave a slight nod as permission for whatever question she was thinking about, and (albeit slightly startled that he’d noticed) she eventually cleared her throat to speak. “... Oh, it’s… It’s nothing, really. Just something I was wondering about during your ceremony tonight,” Idly, she reached down to run her hand through Alba’s soft fur, scratching him a little behind the ears. “To tell you the truth, it- Um, it might actually be a bit rude. I’m trying not to be so blunt anymore, if you can believe it.” 

_Now_ he was interested. Link leaned forward curiously, a silent _I’m listening,_ and reluctantly Zelda continued. “The royal family of Hyrule has historically always represented divine wisdom, correct? And the owl has long been considered the patron animal of wisdom—my mother’s daemon was an owl, actually. It runs in the family,” She gestured lightly to Alba, which admittedly didn’t have much of an effect due to the fact that he was in the form of a dog. “So I can’t help but wonder- If the dragon is sometimes seen as the symbol of courage, why does the Hero of Hyrule’s daemon always settle as a wolf? Surely the spirit of the hero would want to fill a similar pattern?”

The question threw him for a loop. Kiru being a wolf was attention-grabbing enough—he couldn’t even _imagine_ what it would be like to have a full-on _dragon_ trailing behind him from the sky. They all turned to stare at Kiru, who was still lying on the other side of the campfire, as if she somehow knew the answer to their burning question. Link knew she didn’t—and that even if she did, she wouldn’t answer—but his gaze still lingered on her momentarily-

And then suddenly she lifted her head to stare back at them, a glint of what he could _almost_ convince himself to be amusement in her eyes, and said “Well, we have to have _some_ sort of challenge, don’t we?” To anyone else, it would have sounded genuine—and judging by the vaguely confused look on Zelda’s face, she believed it—but Link knew that bone-dry wit, that hint of a chuckle that you could just barely hear under the growl of her voice. 

A joke. It was halfhearted, it was faint, but it was a joke. He hadn’t heard her make one in years. 

Link couldn’t help it. He laughed, _again,_ feeling that ghost of a smile flicker across his face as Zelda perplexedly asked _What? What’s so funny?_ And then Alba let out a barking chuckle too, maybe just because everyone else was, and for a moment—just a moment—their camp was as bright and lively as if their fire had never gone out. 

* * *

The next time he would stare across a dying campfire into Kiru’s eyes, although he wouldn’t know it, would be after he woke up in the water.

He’d opened his eyes to a soft, beckoning voice, to the feeling of water in his lungs and ice in his veins, and to the sudden knowledge that he wasn’t alone. Curled up at his feet, fur soggy and head raising groggily, was a wolf—a real _wolf_ —and yet the moment he looked at her he found himself relaxing immediately, as if he hadn’t realized he’d been missing something (missing _her_ ) until just now. 

_Link,_ the voice called him. _Kiru,_ the voice called the wolf. What the voice didn’t have to tell him was what the wolf meant, what the wolf _was_. In the utter blankness he’d awoken to, he held that intrinsic truth to his chest like a torch in the night. 

She helped him stand, when he first tried to stagger out of the cold pool and his legs buckled underneath him the moment they tried to hold his own weight. Her own movements were stiff, shaking with every step, but she still leaned against his side like a crutch as he forced his quivering body to move. She stayed like that the whole way out of the cave, the two of them following that voice, the only other thing either of them knew. She helped him nose open the battered chests to pull out some threadbare clothes when his numb fingers failed him, and he helped her climb up the rock ledge when her legs faltered on the jump. And when he finally stepped out into the sun, feeling his breath catch upon looking out on the valley below for the first time, she was standing right by his side like it was the place she was always meant to be.

What happened next happened in a haze. He was talking to an old man sitting by the hill. He was wandering around the fields, stopping to brush his hands against wildflowers or run them through bushes just to feel it. He was in the middle of watching a couple birds peck at seeds, already beginning to forget the fear and confusion of that cold pool and cold cave, when that voice whispered to him again and reminded him of the slate’s stony weight on his belt. He was learning so many new things— _great plateau baked apple woodcutter’s axe bokoblin bokoblin_ horn _hylian shroom sheikah tower calamity_ —and it was all so overwhelming that it muddled his thoughts, the only grounding forces being the wolf at his side and the soft voice in his head.

And then, after passing out again from the sheer impact of that tower rising into the sky, he’d looked out into the horizon to notice the smoke-shrouded castle in the distance for the first time. It was only then that, after hours of haziness and confusion, he felt his first real spark of realizing that something was _wrong._

The old man—his side conspicuously absent of any sort of creature like his wolf ( _Kiru_ , he reminded himself), which was something that made him uneasy for a reason he couldn’t describe—had gestured out to the castle, speaking of a catastrophic event years ago, a disaster that had devastated the land, and that feeling of _wrong_ turned to fear. Then dread. Then guilt.

He didn’t know why, and the sudden panic that fluttered in his chest at the mention of disaster weighed deeper in his lungs than the water of the pool had, so instead of thinking about it he tried to do other things instead—like agreeing to bring back some sort of treasure for that colorful _paraglider_ the old man carried around, the joy he got out of watching him glide down from above a welcome distraction from the worry he didn’t understand. So he and Kiru started exploring what the old man had called a _shrine,_ the slate he’d taken out of the cave doing all sorts of incredible things as they adventured, and the sheer rush he’d gotten from running around the blue-tinted cavern was enough to leave him exhausted when he finally emerged from it as the sun went down. They’d look for the other three tomorrow, he promised himself. They just needed to rest first.

Kiru had been conspicuously quiet the entire time. While he wandered about the Great Plateau, she had padded behind him softly and silently, occasionally stopping to sniff at a piece of rubble or stare out at a landmark in the distance. He’d made a couple attempts to talk to her—a gentle pat on her shoulder after they narrowly avoided a Bokoblin’s club in a wordless _You okay?_ and a cheery offer of half his baked apple came to mind—but she’d either just shook her head or ignored it altogether. Whenever he looked at her, he always caught a glimpse of a harrowed, almost haunted look in her eye as she restlessly scanned the cliffs. 

It just made the uneasiness worse.

At some point, when the last of the daylight had begun to disappear below the horizon, he’d found a burnt-out campfire next to a small cluster of trees. That had been the last of his luck. By the time he’d managed to scrounge up a little flint from some nearby rocks, it was almost completely dark, and the chilly night winds were blustering through the branches. His hands shook badly as he crouched over the firepit, partially from the cold and partially from the lingering weakness he’d felt ever since waking up. Every strike to the rock trembled incessantly, any lucky spark fizzling out the moment it hit the ground. Eventually, he’d given up. He resigned himself to lean against a nearby fallen log, hugging his knees to his chest, and hugging the woodcutter’s axe even closer—because it was still one of the only things that, once he’d picked it up, felt familiar to hold in his hands.

Now Kiru was sitting across from him, her eyes wandering from the treeline to the open fields beyond, like she was searching for something he couldn’t recognize. She’d stayed silent once again throughout the entire ordeal, only moving from her spot by the campfire to help sniff through piles of rocks that dotted the woods. Even then, the gesture had only been nominal in nature—the cloudiness in her eyes and the stiffness of her movements made it clear her mind was elsewhere. As he stared at her from across the barren firepit, his own mind beginning to wander just the same, a thought came to his mind—and along with it another gut-wrenching stab of inexplicable guilt. It was so sudden that, momentarily forgetting that Kiru probably wouldn’t answer, he found himself raising his hands to speak.

He had only realized he couldn’t talk right when he’d walked up to the old man for the first time and, upon opening his mouth to speak, the words had died on his tongue with a croak of a hum. At that point, he’d still been too groggy to start panicking, so as soon as he’d been asked an actual question he found himself automatically lifting a hand to sign out a response—albeit a shaky one. He’d surprised himself with just how _easily_ it came, despite him not being able to even fully recognize his own signing, but it was enough for now. It would _have_ to be enough for now.

This time, his hands were shaking again, but not for the same reason. “ _I think I had something to do with that.”_

_That,_ of course, meant the castle drowning in shadow on the horizon, but Kiru didn’t know that. She raised her head sharply at his words, and for the very first time she whispered to him in a low, harsh voice. “... _What?”_

_“The castle,”_ His hands said, the guilt in his stomach twisting tighter, in a way that was so strong and so reviling that it couldn’t _possibly_ be because of anything else. _“I think I did something. Or let something happen. I don’t know.”_ He felt like he’d been saying that to himself all day—he didn’t know where he was, he didn’t know _who_ he was, he didn’t know _anything._ Instead of saying that, though, he added a hesitant, hopeful “ _Do_ you _remember anything?”_

Kiru went silent again, that haunted expression returning. She stared at him unnervingly and unblinkingly, to the point where he started getting a little uncomfortable, until suddenly she rushed to her feet in agitation. “I don’t- I can’t-“ There was a rising note of panic in her voice as she hurriedly looked from side to side. “Nothing is right. Something’s gone horribly wrong, this shouldn’t be _happening_ , but… No, _no,_ it’s not supposed to be like this, we were supposed to…” She started sniffing around the campsite again in some kind of desperate search, and finally he found himself leaning forward to place a hesitant, but comforting hand on the scruff of her neck.

_We’ll figure it out,_ He thought to her without realizing, despite knowing that neither of them had any idea where to even start _looking_ for answers. Kiru froze the moment his fingers touched her fur, and stiffened even more when he didn’t move away. Slowly, shakily, she turned to look up at him with an expression of pure despair. 

“Link, we… We _failed_ ,” She whispered hoarsely, and he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that if a soul could cry there would be tears staining her snout. “I think I failed _you._ ”

His fingers shook a little harder, the words unfamiliar and distant to him but still causing a shudder to go down his spine. He tried to open his mouth to speak again, but all that came out was a raspy, questioning warble that vibrated painfully in his dry throat. 

“I did it all wrong,” Kiru struggled to elaborate, caught up in something that he didn’t understand. “I don’t remember much. I _can’t_ remember much. But I know there was a before, I know things were different. _We_ were different, and that I treated you…” She trailed off suddenly, unable to find the words for whatever vague memory was left in her mind. “And if we’re here, then that means it... It didn’t work.”

He knew, deep down, that there had to be a _before._ That _something_ must have gotten him into that cave and that pool, that _something_ must have caused the violent scars striping his chest that he’d numbly brushed over upon standing up for the first time, that _something_ must have made him able to pick up a weapon he’d never seen before and swing it around like second nature. His head was still slightly foggy—he was trying as hard as he could to keep up with everything that was happening—and most of what Kiru was saying just didn’t make sense to him no matter how hard he thought about it, but what he did know was that something very, _very_ bad must have happened to them. Maybe even _because_ of them.

And although Kiru clearly knew more about it than he did, they both had no idea what that was.

“Link, you-” Kiru’s hesitant voice cut through his thoughts, a note of real worry shining through her low growl. “You’re shivering,” And it was only then that he truly noticed the way he’d curled further into himself, how the tips of his fingers had started to go numb again like they’d been in the cave, the cold metal of the woodcutter’s axe causing further shudders to wrack his body. She looked him up and down, as if debating with herself whether or not to do something. Eventually, her expression became a fraction more resolute, and she whispered an almost gentle “... Here, let me do something about it,” and stepped forward across the firepit.

He wasn’t ready for when Kiru came to lean her body against his. Almost the moment she brushed his skin, he found himself latching onto her and pulling her as close as possible with a desperation he didn’t recognize as his own. He clung to her warm fur like it would save him from drowning, like he’d been starving for it for a hundred years. It was only then that Kiru’s despairing words began to make sense, if not because he was actually remembering something but because he _wasn’t._ The feeling of her close to him was so much of a shock to his system, jarring enough to make his heart falter, that it made it clear it was something he hadn’t experienced in a long, _long_ time.

And Kiru was just as surprised, if not even more so. He felt the way every one of her muscles tensed when he wrapped his arms around her, and for a worrying moment he thought she would back away. But then she relaxed again, slowly and hesitantly, moving to rest her head on his shoulder. In the wake of the constant, underlying confusion and fear and uncertainty that had permeated everything since he’d woken up, holding Kiru to his chest was the first thing that felt truly _good._

“We have something important to do again, I think,” Kiru said softly, the tremor in her words betraying the fact that she still didn’t know what it was. “Then we… We’ve done it before. We can do it again.” 

It was quiet, and uncertain, but it was that glint of reassurance that caused the roiling feeling of guilt he couldn’t understand to finally subside. They would figure things out. They _had_ to.

And although he didn’t know it, that night, curled up under Kiru’s warm weight, he slept better than he’d ever had. 

It would be the last time Link slept that well for a while. 

**Author's Note:**

> Link: Gray wolf  
> Purah: Snowcoat fox  
> Robbie: Jackson's chameleon  
> Zelda: Unsettled (on the day of the Calamity, her daemon settles as a great horned owl)  
> King Rhoam: Olympic elk  
> Urbosa: Dromedary camel 
> 
> I really do not know if anyone's gonna be interested in this au BUT!! if you wanna chat about this with me or about loz in general hmu on my [tumblr!](https://frill-shark.tumblr.com/) I'd love to explain my daemon choices a little more (although lets b real link and urbosa literally have CANONICAL fursonas how was I NOT supposed to use that). ty for reading!! :)


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